Loving Him
by RubyE.A.Gem
Summary: I remember everything. The beginning and I remember the end. I remember his eyes, the way they danced like flames, and how the gold flakes would catch the light. I could lose myself in those hazel orbs. I remember his laugh how it was contagious, and how he understood me better than I did. I remember how we went to the end of the world for each other, and we would do it all again.
1. Making escapes and introductions

Author's Note: Hey y'all, this is set 20 years after the last Harry Potter Book! And the curse child is being ignored! Hope you enjoy!

~Rose POV~

1\. Making escapes and introductions

I turned through the air, flying by the world, being above, beneath, within. The swirling of my robes slapping against my legs as I felt my stomach drop to the floor, except no floor was there beneath me. I was not flying, but I was also not yet accustom to the feeling of apparating, as if you were on a roller coaster that had climbed so high and teetered, tipped, and then fell, racing to the floor.

My feet hit the sidewalk jolting me to an abrupt stop, the pavement dusty and grimy beneath my feet, and the dust rose and clung to my clothing. My trunk was clutched in my hand, as my knuckles turned white, and I rest it down with a sigh, I never was able to travel light.

The sound of a whistle brought me out of my quite revere, loud and piercing, as the whole world turned into action, and I was lost in the crowd. Looking up, just above me was the station, 10, and there, to its immediate right was number 9. The numbers shined with a dinted gold gleam, which peeled at the edges as the paint detreated more every year, now barely covering the 1 in the10.

The train station was busy, bustling with noise and filled with the flurry of movement. The familiar sent of London, a mixture of smoke and ash, but with the undertone of freshly baked bread, that always made my stomach growl. And that warmth of the familiar sent made my lips slightly turn up at the sides, and a ghost of a smile that was lost over the long months of summer holiday began to make its first appearance, the muscles in my cheek unused and creaked and complained, but my heart it picked up its pace. And one thought only stuck in my mind, 'Almost home'. And therefore free to leave the nightmare behind and the cold of the world without magic as well.

The distant roar of trains approaching and disappearing and the rumble of their heavy metal wheels on the train tracks filled my ears and clouded my senses. That too was familiar, this was my way away, and it took me back, flashing through memory after memory, the first time I met the Potters, my friends laughter, the tears of joy, backtracking through good times, and times of grief, and my pulse remembered with me, beating its own melody.

It took me back to when I first arrived at this crowded station, smaller, and big eyed, filled with adrenaline to the brim, and longing an escape, but afraid of what lied ahead. I remember asking the tall officer, with his blue uniform and shiny buttons where platform 9 and ¾ was, I remember the way he laughed and said, "We get that question every year, on this date, funny ain't it?" I can still close my eyes and remember first feeling the red paint beneath my fingertips, and that emotion, something unknown, hope.

As well, thinking back, to standing in that crowd for hours, looking around, waiting for a train on a platform that didn't exist, getting more desperate by the minute, so I sat down on my little trunk, clutching a kitten to my chest, and murmuring to myself, and that is the first time I saw magic. They were older than me, taller, but they had the same ticket clutched in their hands, the same look of joy on their faces, and they had big trunks, like mine, and they ran at that wall, head first, laughing all the way, and they disappeared into that wall, as if they never existed. And vanished into smoke, I thought it was a trick of the lighting, and that the fog was too thick to see threw, but I was sure that my eyes were not playing tricks on me. I remember how my heart pounded, and how I jumped to my feet, eyes wider than before, heart beating faster than before. And I remember following them, timid in my step, not running, but walking and I remember it not working. And then I ran, feet hitting the pavement, wind in my hair, and I was magic.

A loud yell rings through the air, and the action in the crowd awakes me from my thoughts yet again, and I move within the sea of people, and we all move, together as one, rushing, quick in our step, and walking towards our futures, even if it is a tomorrow.

I turn right, into a familiar alley way, where no one sees me cling to the shadows, and I take out my wand, something more precious to me than myself. It is elegant, every centimetre of its long 13 inches, made out of evergreen wood which is a dark colour, so dark it could be mistaken as black, smoothed and curved into a straight line that stretched to a tip, and gleamed with a finish that made it look alive. Its shine was reflective as it had a rose growing from its base, its petals and thorns etched to perfection, and it seemed to grow and bloom when it caught the light. Its core was a dragon's lost loved heart, and pixie dust with 4 drops of unicorn blood. But what made it rare was the tear of a mother's first born child, which gave the wand its power and a love that was unknown, and pure. And just beneath the wands base, were my initials, carved into the wood, marking it as my own, R.N.T short for Rose Nadia BlackThorne.

"Accio!"

The spell rang through the alleyway, which had fortunately remained empty. And there out of the mist and fog that clouded my vision, swinging through the air, and coming to an abrupt stop before banging to the ground, and hitting the cobblestones arrived my owl, Tempest, and book bag, as well as my cat, June, grey and blue eyed and young, a kitten that I had adopted over the vacation. Swinging the bag over my shoulder and picking up the two cages and my trunk, after tucking my wand away, hidden beneath my robes, I step out into the busy street, and head for my platform.

There is a fog, of smoke, and the cold, as both muggle and wizard's breath mixed together, the September air is chilly and it sends a thrill down my spine, my breath is steamy and creates a mist of its own as does everyone's around me. And out of that fog there it is, hidden behind the mist, and a part of the smoke, a brick wall, simple, etched with a few cracks of age here and there, and grey with the ash of cigarette smoke and the trains exhaust.

It is a comforting sight and before I charge towards it, I take a final look at muggle London, the streets, that you can see just a glimpse of above the steps that lead out of the train station, and I value the way those steps lead to a different part of my life. A part where I am no one, and I am just another person in the crowd, moving with the people, and then I look to the wall, simple, but beckoning, and inviting me to come see what is on its other side. And I take its invitation.

I run at it, my heels hitting the ground, making a satisfying sound, my heart beating loud, and I don't stop, I keep running towards it, excitement and adrenaline coursing in my veins, almost free, it is millimetres away, and I feel as if I am to crash and then I hit, no, I slip through, as if the wall opened to my command and I step onto the platform, and a new smell welcomes me, and it is the smell of home, the smell of magic in the air.

And I look up, above me, shining as if the sun itself, polished to perfection, with no cheap painted coat, but real and solid gold, shines my platform number, 9 ¾ and it is, large, curving, and standing out against a wall, that is not covered in cigarette ash, or stained with smoke, but instead, a wall of red brick, that shines new and real, and I drop my belongings and spin around to face the world I was born to be in.

"It never changes does it?"

The voice is as happy as I am, and the voice, a voice I have missed so very much over these past 3 months, it is the voice of a thousand great memories, funny times, and hard days, the voice of someone I could not live without, and a shriek escapes me.

"V!" My arms are around her in seconds crushing her to me, and a laugh escapes me, I take in her familiar sent, of Lavender and Sage, and I am happy, happier then I have been all summer long, and she laughs, a melody that sounds like bells at Christmas time.

I pull away to inspect her, "Your _hair_!" She giggles; the ends are long, silky as they run through my hands…

"Merlin!"

She is gasping for breath a grin that touches both of her ears and lights up my world is planted on her face, and her laughter has turned into a silent giggle, "I _know"_

I am shaking my head, "All those letters and you didn't tell me _once_ you were growing it out!"

"You're one to talk" Her eyes leave my face and take me in,

"Are you _taller?"_ I look down at me, and roll my eyes punching her in the arm,

"No, I don't grow, okay, and the fact that you brought that up is highly appalling and too early in the day to talk about such serious issues and you have no idea the struggles I must face-"

She cuts me off, "Yeah, yeah, I know, 'cause you have to wear higher shoes, and you don't get the same amount of respect that taller woman do… I know…"

I shake my head, and mutter under my breath "Yeah right you do"

She laughs again, and pushes me, causing me to glare right on back, eyes narrowing, "You are bloody evil!"

She walks away, facing me, as she takes each step backwards, her long caramel hair swinging side to side, "Uhuh! Always!"

And then I smile, I smile because the laugh came unforced, the banter was natural, this life, it was my life, and I smiled because I am happy.

I pick up the luggage I dropped in a hurry, and though my arms strain to hold it all, I welcome the extra effort I must exude to hold it. And I follow her, my feet hitting the cobblestones beneath me, which are clean and swept for this big day. The day we go back.

And my eyes roam the platform, the crowds of people are unlike those at King Cross Station, these crowds are all one, and we all stand, some levitating, others zooming around on broomsticks, but what makes us different is the magic, it courses through us like electricity and surrounds us.

"Get your last minute school supplies here!"

"3 Knuts for an exploding snap, have your last dash of fun!"

"Butterbeer, 4 Knuts a gallon!"

The voices in the air are crisp, as little carts and wheelbarrows are turned into instant shops, and selling their trademark items, sugar quills, textbooks, ink, potion ingredients, sweets and candies, savoury foods for the journey, potions to stop sickness that some students get aboard the train, pet owls, and toads of every variety.

The shops line the walls of the station, and compete with each other, calling out and advertising their products, one at a time, or all together, their voices ringing over and over again, as others walk within the crowd, with large baskets and crates, forcing things upon unprepared students, and parents alike, as money is given to each other, and some go to the side to haggle it out, bargaining for better prices, and better quality.

But there, in the crowd, was Terdoc Millfygan, the person who handed out the daily prophet's special limited addition, which cost a few extra Sickles here and there, but was worth every cent. He is always the only vender I will stop by, and though he must be older than 100, with his knarled hands, and missing teeth, and the daily prophet's he hands out were most probably obtained illegally, he has a gentle heart, and remembers my name.

"Hulo 'dere Miss Thorne, you wanting one of 'des papers, no?" He calls out, waving the paper above his head, and making gestures for me to come his way.

I send him a jolly smile, and slip through the throngs of people,

"Thank you for saving me one!"

I gasp, breathless, from the excitement of the crowd and the struggle of carrying my heavy trunks,

"Always miss, you just remember, no tellin' no one it was me who gave ya' it"

He is wagging a wrinkled finger and squinting his eyes up, while nodding his head to and fro, and my heart warms with his raspy voice,

"Uhuh! Of course!"

"You coming, idgit?" V's voice rings from far in front of me, her eyebrows raised, and her eyes rolling,

I drop the money into his hands, and grab the paper, sending him another smile, and screaming right back,

"Yes I'm bloody coming, what are you my mother?"

I jog to reach her, and I see her grumble a lofty response under her breath, and bump her with my shoulder,

"What was that, I'm sorry I didn't catch it, _mom!_ "

She bumps me back, hair slapping me in the face as she tosses her head,

"I _said_ let's go!"

And we laugh, like 3 months didn't feel like forever, and we go, side by side, catching up, talking about the world we know, and what here summer was like.

And then I see him. Them.

They walk with both authority and power, and people clear the way before them, they travel as a pack, all together, laughing, and poking fun, but at the same time, they exude a superiority, and they don't look at the world turning around them, for that is what the world is doing, spinning all around _them._

All eyes stray to their faces, but glance away, almost in fear, but more so in respect. They respect their chosen ones, for that is what they are, chosen by society to be above, better, worshiped, kneeled to. They rule the government, elected in by the people and creating an elite circle, an elite army, club, call it what you want. They named it Dumbledore's Army, after the first one established by Harry himself. It is a group of Aurors, Ministry members, which discuss all political matters, financial matters and threats that face this world. The Minister of Magic makes a decision, and then, this council votes their decision, and then their decision is placed into action. So they rule the world from behind the scenes, not in the light, behind closed, locked doors.

They are all dressed expensively, all wearing long black coats that skim the floor, their robes dark velvet, the inside collars lined in dark burgundy, and the cuffs encrusted with jewels that catch the light. They wear shiny dark shoes, with laces of thin gold, disappearing beneath well-tailored pants, sculpted around their ankles. Their red and black hair, and well defined faces, all stand out; they are beautiful, dangerous, and perfect.

The Potters.

Our heroes some people say, they are wizarding world royalty, they are gods among us, and they are unreachable. They have saved us from destruction, for it was Harry Potter, now a man, but then a boy, just turned 17, that had to kill himself to save us all, the story well known of the defeat of darkness, the solving of all problems, the conquering of all evil. It is a legend parents tell their children, one of a kind, that people will shake their heads in awe, and say "Not possible," "Liar!" "They can't be human"

I say they are human. And humans are capable of great, but ordinary acts of bravery. I say they didn't save the world so everyone could raise them above, I say they didn't save the world to conquer anything, they saved it because they didn't want the people they loved to die. And that is miraculous. That is worth recognising.

There they come, talking amongst themselves.

Lily Luna Potter, small, petite, her red hair like flames, overpowering her, and surrounding her, she is just going in to the beginning of second year, but she already looks like a woman, with big green eyes, and high cheekbones, and determination in her, courage in her. Gryffindor. Beautiful, but no one dares lay a hand on her, and no one dares walk in her fiery path, for she resembles a dragon, beautiful, magnificent, but terrifying when you get on the wrong side. And yet, she is also a child, a little girl that likes pigmy puffs, and dress ups. That plays with dolls, and likes twirling around and getting her brothers to carry her everywhere. She is the youngest of the Potters, but also the nicest, her smile is like watching a flower bloom in May, and she is much like her name sake, Lily Evans, a great woman, who sacrificed her life to save her son's, who also was as innocent as a dove, but as lethal as a viper.

Then there is Albus Severus Potter. The odd one out, the scandal no one shuts up about. The middle child of the Potter's, some say he takes to many traits from the late Severus Snape, I say he is pressured, and does not crave the perfection that labels the Potters, he does not enjoy the analysing spot light, the eyes on the back of his head, the whispers left behind him, the headlines in the news. He doesn't want the life of a celebrity for something he never did, and never had any effect on. He is tall, 5'8 and growing, but smaller, and thinner, some say he is a carbon copy of his father at that age, his eye are also startlingly green, but his face is more angles, and his skin is more creamy, a shade lighter. He stands to the side of the group, glasses perched on his nose, askew, and he carries the weight of the names he was given, the weight of the best man anyone has ever known. And the worst man, that changed sides at the last second, to save millions. He is going into third year as a Slytherin. Yes you heard right, we were all scandalized, a _Potter_ as a _Slytherin_.

Then there is the oldest. James Sirius Potter. He is at the centre of the group surrounded by his friends, a smile that flashes across his face like lightning, and a laugh that is addictive, roaring above the crowd. His hair is messy, black as death, and darker than midnight, falling into his eyes, but not long, purposefully scattered, and appealing. He has a different demeanour than the rest of the Potters, there is a fire that burns in his soul, and peeks out of his eyes, flames, red, powerful, dangerous, incredible, enthralling, electric and happy. They burn with a passion for living, for James, more than anyone I have ever seen knows how to live, every second, of every day, of every moment, he spends adventuring, laughing, destroying and creating. He doesn't waste time, and takes advantage of it. He is fascinating, so if I stared at him long enough I would be lost in the detail, and once I found those details and memorized them, I would be lost in new ones. He is tall, 6'2 and never stops growing, towering above everyone and adding a couple inches to accommodate his hair. He is the youngest captain of any Quidditch team in the history of Hogwarts, and he is the seeker of that team, winning the game every time, with a flourish. He has been appointed a prefect as I have this year, for the legend, himself, is in my year, 4th year. I have hardly known him for the 4 years we have spent in the same castle, but castles are large, and I rather associate with people who give a damn about their lives, for James would jump off a cliff, and not care if he died falling. I'd care, I mean, if I fell, I wouldn't care if he did, I don't care about anything Potter does, I never have, I pride myself with my uncaring attitude.

He is laughing at something Fred Weasley said, head thrown back, hair falling into his eyes, teeth glittering in the sun light, white, like little pearls, He has a Gryffindor scarf rapped loosely around his neck, and I watch it slip slowly to the side, exposing his atoms apple, and I watch it move as he laughs, his neck moving backwards, the muscles flexing. His eyes reflect the sun and his skin, tanned from the summer, is golden kissed, and I watch his head move forward again, hair slipping out of his eyes as he runs a hand through it, and then those hazel eyes, with the gold rimmed around the outside and the pupil, meet mine.

His laughter dies as we observe each other, his eyes are curious, happy, glowing with joy and warmth, and they look at me, not through me like they normally would, but at me. And I wonder if he knows who I am, or if he even knows my name. I wonder if he has ever had to wonder that, had to think, ask himself if they knew who he is.

John Prewett, says something in his ear, and his eyes don't leave mine as he cracks another one of a kind smile and nods his head, chuckling under his breath. But he still looks at me, and then his eyes shift, to next to me, just to my right, and his voice rings clear, through the crowd, the world,

"V! You gonna ignore your bloody relatives?!"

She laughs at him, "Hell yeah!"

"Are we truly _that_ embarrassing?"

He fakes a blow to the heart, clutching his hands to his chest, as his eyes dance with humour,

"YES!"

He laughs, a bellow, loud, clear, and it is spontaneous, I feel my lips tilt up at the corners, and then fix them back in a straight line, I turn to the tall girl beside me,

"You rush me over here, in all that haste just to get rid of me when someone better comes along?!"

She looks at me with puppy eyes, dripping with false love, and an undercurrent of adoring sisterhood…

"Ughh go ahead you bastard!"

She mouths 'thank you' and moves her way through the crowd to greet them, I see James hook an arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer, in a warm hug.

And I watch him watch me over her shoulder, those strange eyes staring at me, but his expression I can't quite place, he finds me quizzical, interesting, as if I am a plant in a greenhouse that has a nice bloom. And I feel the heat begin to rise. No one looks at me like that.

And then his right eye darts close, in a wink, long eyelashes brushing his high cheekbone, and an expression that makes butterflies take flight, as his lips turn into a trade mark, well known, smirk. It flashes towards me, hitting me like a running train, and I feel the blush spread across my cheeks.

"Crap" I murmur, and turn away, my back facing him, as I run a hand through my hair.

" _Crap"_

I walk away, hurrying, away from the Potters and the Weasleys, all one big family, that I am not prepared to face head on. My muscles scream for release as the forgotten trunks and luggage strains them. And I push my way through everyone, ignoring the constant sounds, and jitters, and then before me my escape emerges.

It is a large, fire truck red train. It glistens in the sun, shining with a new paint coat, the wheels ending at my waist, large and twice my size, they are a bronze copper, freshly oiled so that they also are new. And in big, gold, block letter, painting the side of the train is, "Hogwarts Express". It is magnificent, getting longer each year, as the students, from all over the world, reunite to live, to stay, to learn in this one school.

I let out the breath I have been holding all 3 months, and breathe in the new air, the old air, the air I know. The scent of the fresh paint coat, and engine oil, the smell of pine trees that they crushed under their wheels, the pine needles, as they came from Hogwarts, it is familiar, and I can smell home in it, the distant smell of Hogwarts. The sound of the train whistle, and the 'all aboard' bell, that rings, like those at an abbey, it also reminds me, but not of something good, it reminds me of the Hogwarts fire and damage alarm, the huge brass bell, that hangs high above all towers, with rickety ladders, that shake, and break at any sudden movement. I fear that bell, louder, and roaring, but this one is smaller, more timid and I fall in love with its ring.

"You going to stand there all day, with your hand pressed to the new paint job, oooorrrr? You gonna say hello to me?"

A smile plants itself on my face, turning from happy, to ecstatic, from small to a grin!

"DOM!"

I am the one screaming as I fling myself at her, hands buried in her white, blonde hair,

"You're TAN!" My voice is still loud, as I clutch her in my arms, she is solid, real. And another breath I have been holding all summer is released.

"Uhuh, yeah right I am!"

She inspects me with curious eyes, resting on my face, searching my eyes.

I inspect her back, arms still locked around her; desperate to make sure she is actually there,

"Dominique Weasley, where the hell have you been?"

She laughs, a sound that always reminded me of a fire sparking alive, and I listen to it, taking it in, soaking in the sound I have missed.

"You are only going to say hi to her? I thought you didn't have favourites!?"

The voice is like the wind, caring, a whisper, or the murmur of grass that rubs together in the breeze, soft, and young, and innocent. Though at the same time it is indignant, and care free, I love her because she is soft, and still like the sea, steady, but just like the sea she can carry a wave, of joy, understanding, defiance.

Roxy.

I am shaking my head, laughing and close to tears, tears of relief.

I pull her into a bear hug, hiding my face in her brilliant red hair.

And I feel arms loop around me from behind, covered in a light dusting of freckles, and the smell of mint chocolate chip ice cream fills me,

"Lucy!" she giggles, like a child, and spins me around to give me a big kiss on the cheek, and I pull away from her, and grab for her big cone of dripping chocolate chipped-mint ice cream, she holds it above her head, just out of my reach, and tosses her head back as she giggles, watching my fingertips close on air, and her giggles become a whirlwind of chocked laughter, as I hop up and down, becoming a child with her, as I desperately attempt to get her ice cream, my favourite.

She is the child in the group, the one who doesn't want to mature, to grow up, the one that plays games like hide and seek, and just like a child her innocence of the horrors of the world, has stayed intact, and her ignorance is bliss.

"Give me!" I groan at her, my eyes wide with joy, and my hair a tangled mess, from running in circles around her, attempting to get it, as Dom raises her noise at us, and complains about how it smells like 'bloody toothpaste' and 'what's the big deal anyways?' and Roxanne lectures her about the importance of mint chocolate chip ice cream, making up a dramatic story about the history of ice cream through the decades.

And my eyes don't know where to focus, my hands hanging in the air reaching, and it is almost perfect, except I miss, the hands at my sides tickling my rib cage, making me laugh, and clutch my chest for air. I stop for a moment, I miss her, the last piece to our puzzle, and the light to my darkness, my best friend, the idiot I love so dearly, "Where's V?"

Everyone stops, glancing around, eyes searching the group, and then the people in the crowd moving around us, "Huh." We are gasping for breath, and the smiles were temporary,

"There she is!"

Roxanne's voice is like the wind, fresh, soft, and happy again, her long arms waving madly above her head, as she gestures for her to come and join us, and I watch where her eyes are looking, and there she is, her head propped on Potter's shoulder, dark hair fanned across it, smiling at something they are saying, and I feel a monster inside me roar its head awake, jealous, and envy with green, I swallow the new emotion,

"I'll go get her!" Dom grumbles, as she skips through the crowd, long hair swinging behind her, hands out reached to grab her, a grin planted on her lips.

Jealous. Why? I watch her near them, grabbing onto V's arm and tugging her, and I watch them all laugh, as Potter wraps an arm around Dom's back pulling her into him and ruffling her hair, an adorable look of affection on his face. And there it is again, jealousy, not anger, but envy. But for who? I don't envy Potter for hugging his cousins, my friends, no, I envy my friends for hugging _him._

" _Oh my god!"_

Roxanne raises an eyebrow at me, "What?"

I glance down, looking at my scuffed shoes, cracked in a few places, and worn out, the pavement beneath, clean, and grey, with a few stained footprints of dust on it.

I shake my head, "Nothing, just, just wondering what they see in him,"

Roxy giggles, and it is her turn to shake her head, "He isn't _all bad"_

I smile again, and scoff; "Now _you're_ making excuses for _him?_ "

"Noooo, just, he is, you know what, you are right, I have no idea what they see in him,"

"How about what you see in him?"

She pretends to think, putting on a serious face, scrunching her eyebrows,

And I wait in expecting silence, my lips upturned,

After a long pause, "A bastard..."

And I hit her on the arm, and push my way through the crowd, going to get the rest of my friends who were lost in the sea of people.

"Look who I found!" I say with a raised eyebrow, and pursed mouth,

V at least has the decency to give me a guilty look, and small smile, while Dom simply responds,

"A beautiful veela, I know, count yourself lucky"

As she gives a small twirl, tossing her hair, and eyes dancing.

" _Part_ veela, and no, I found disgusting deserters… Who will be punished accordingly,"

"Is that so?" His voice has a husky undertone that cuts through the air, and brings everyone's attention to him; he has a look of humour, as he tilts his jaw, and watches me with those eyes. Playful, poking fun at me and my empty threats and I dislike the way his tone challenges me.

So I hold my ground, and nod, "Yes, it is so,"

I look away from him, tearing my eyes from his interesting face, "Now, are you coming?"

James Potter cuts in again, "Veronica, you haven't introduced me to your quick tempered friend?"

The question hangs in the air, and my suspicions earlier are confirmed, he doesn't know who I am. But I know who he is. And it upsets me, so I answer for her.

"We have already been introduced, in 2nd year, and you weren't interested then, so there is no need to become interested now,"

"Interested in what?"

The question hits me like a bullet, and I swallow, hard, not able to come up with an answer, without making assumptions.

He watches my silence, and looks right through my angry face, and into my confusion. What had I meant?

He ducks his head, and looks up at me, eyes narrowed, a knowing smile gracing his face,

"Wait, did you mean, did you think, that _I_ , was interested in _you_?"

And his friends laugh, patting him on the back and shaking their heads,

Fred Weasley says "Good one mate,"

And I feel embarrassed, small, and I hate being small, so I do something I never thought I would do,

I grab V's hand and with the other hand I flip the James Sirius Potter off.

And it is my turn to toss my hair, flinging it over my shoulder as I stride away, ignoring what lies behind me,

But his voice follows me, as he calls out, "I didn't catch your name?"

I stop in my tracks, and I don't dare turn around, but I feel his eyes watch me, calculating my next move,

"Rose, it's Rose."


	2. Trains and Destinations

~Rose's POV~

2\. Trains and Destinations

The train ride is full of happy banter, and laughter. Each giggle is like music to my ears, and I watch them, my friends fight among themselves over who looks nicer, John Prewett, or Archer Longbottom. And I listen to the argument, but I don't pay attention to what is said, I just listen to the sounds of their voices, the joy that they have, and the way they all seem to smile as if there was nothing wrong, and in a moment like this there isn't.

I watch the way they move, and I soak in each detail, analysing, recognising the changes. Summer seemed never ending, the orphanage was quiet, but the still is always before a storm, and the storm did come, and I still wear the bruises that it left behind, but they are hidden, beneath the robes, the clothes, the smile. And they stay that way.

Sometimes it upsets me, the 4 of them, all Weasleys spend the summer together, adventuring, creating new memories, and they grow closer, but I don't spend the summer there, I wouldn't be able to, and when we get back, back on this train, that platform, back to Hogwarts we are all together again, but the changes in them, and outside of them I need to get to know again, from scratch.

I watch them, and I let out the stress that I wouldn't recognise them, or know who they are. I'm happy everything came naturally, the laughter, the smiles, the talking, the words, the sentences. I'm happy they are happy, content.

Each one of them has a life I crave to have, that I would love to have, and as I look on I watch, and I think about each one of them, what has changed and what will never change.

Dominique Weasley, the daughter of Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley, who handles dragons in Romania. Her mother owns a clothes line, mostly floral and white, summer colours. She prides herself on the one eighth veela she is, her mother being half. Dom reminds me of a fairy tale princess, her long silvery, white, bleached blonde hair, that never tangles and is pin straight, reaching her mid back, and layered, looks unearthly, and her light blue eyes that seem to be liquid silver, shine, or glow.

She is tall, built like a model, skinny, and angular, but curved into perfection. The only flaw being the scars she bares. Dominique Weasley loves doing gymnastics, the only problem being, she isn't any good, and breaks bones as she never stops attempting, but she is good at being there. I have never met someone who protects the people they love quite as well as she does, and though her looks place her in the category of a model, she wants to be a Veterinarian, she loves animals, and she is good at loving them, she protects them just like she protects me. She has a younger brother by a year, Louis Weasley, and an older sister that is in her graduating year, Victorie, all 3 of them are complete opposites, Victorie likes sports, and does Quidditch, and wants to become the new assistant to Madame Hooch, and Louis is the scholar, that likes books, and doing dares.

Roxanne Weasley, her light chocolate skin, reminds me of my favourite kind of cinnamon, caramel coffee latte, she smells like Christmas, but reminds me of the sea, because her voice is soft, and still, and steady. She likes romance novels, and thrilling horror books as well, but not, and never school books. She is one of the bravest people I know, in the Quidditch team she is a chaser, and oh does she chase after what she wants. She is brilliant at doing defines and attacking spells in D.A.D.A.

Her hair is dark red, that is streaked with brown, and curly but soft and not as long, going to just below her shoulders, and not so curly that it was difficult to brush but more wavy than curly. Addictive, though, the way it slipped through my fingers, without a single knot. She said she would grow it out over the summer, but, she never did. Her eyes are a dark brown, with yellow around the iris, her eyebrows perfectly defined, and her body well-toned due to Quidditch. She is one of a kind, and yes she is kind, understanding, and always ready to listen to whatever speech I need to get off my chest.

Lucy Weasley, the child, the one who acts, loves and enjoys children. She has bright red hair, which is radiant, and can be found in any crowd. She is also on the Quidditch team, but as a backup player, at least for last year she was, try outs will happen again, this year, and maybe she will get a permanent role. She likes eating, and baking, so me and her will have bake offs, and make our friends eat our creations, as the judges.

She isn't as tall and only 2 inches over my small stature of 5'4. She is the only one out of the 5 of us that is currently in a relationship. Ah yes, Mason Wood, they have been dating all through the summer, and couldn't be happier, at least from her letters that is what I have understood. She is brave but more care free, not give a damn kind of brave, the brave that sometimes is stupidity. And I love her for her freedom, she makes me feel uncaged, and I allow that to consume me. Her eyes are a light green, that has dark brown edging the outside of the irises, and I watch those beautiful eyes come alive with laughter, and turn and look at me.

"You done soaking me in yet?"

She says with a little laugh at the end,

I duck my head, embarrassed, but answer honestly, "Yes. Though it _is_ good to see you…"

Her smile becomes less teasing, Lucy is very empathetic, she can read me like a picture book, but never lets it on. And I don't mind, she knows me well, she knows I like my time to myself.

Roxanne cuts in, "What was that with James?"

I glance at her, and open my mouth to respond, but shut it, before saying anything, and busy myself with getting out a book, Spells and Incantations - Book 4 - Standardized, that I have already read, but need to know by heart. And I am still having some difficulties with the wand movements for the last chapter, Unlocking and Summoning.

Roxy repeats the question,

And I sigh, exasperated, "What was _what?"_

Dom's lips turn up, "You mean the blush spreading across her cheeks, or James pretending to not know her name?"

She scoffs, "I'm wondering the same damn thing, hmm, Thorne, got an answer?"

The name Thorne makes my lips turn up, my full last name, BlackThorne is a tad too long, and too much of a mouth full, so everyone shortens it to "Thorne" but never, and I mean _never_ calls me Black. That name carries a history, the weight of a family, and I dare not play with the ancestry of it.

V nudges me with her foot, her legs resting on my lap, head pressed to the window by the sliding door, a dark navy blanket wrapped around her, as she drowsily, raises an eyebrow as she yawns.

I close my book with a snap, unable to find the page, and not really even trying to look.

"Fine. I don't know."

Everyone's eyes look at me with disbelief,

I roll my eyes, and open the book to the page of contents, and skim the last couple lines, searching for the chapter's page number.

I close my eyes, briefly, and open them looking at their expecting faces,

"Happy?" The sarcasm drips off the word, and makes it more into a statement than a question.

Dom shakes her head, "Hell _no,_ what do you _mean_ you don't know?"

I scrunch my eyebrows together, and repeat myself, slower, as if talking to an infant, "I mean I don't know,"

Roxy giggles, and grabs the book from my hand, tossing it on the seat beside her, where Lucy occupies, who lets out a muffled "Ouch!"

"That isn't possible, you know everything, everything you do has some magical purpose behind it, and so does flipping my cousin off, so?"

I cross my hands over my chest, an outraged look of horror on my face, and with false modesty I proclaim,

"I don't know _everything,_ god, if I could know everything I would do so many more things with my life, I would start an association to help people who have 'Spontaneous Combusting Memories' due to their interaction with a certain two spells, Licendia, which summons grass, and Gresindsin, which destroys a particular memory that has already been extracted from the person in questions mind, and therefore this reaction between both spells causes the growing of weeds in one's mind, a horrible fate, if you ask me and, I think…."

Dom claps a well-manicured hand over my mouth, stopping my flow of words abruptly and shakes her head wildly, eyes wide, "Nope, _no_ one asked you, that's okay we don't need to know what you think, it's really, _really_ okay…"

Lucy giggles, her laughter loud, and Roxy joins in, amused at my rambling and Dom's horror at learning something before we even arrive at the school. V smiles at me, her eyes kind, but searching, looking under my wall of words, and into my heart, and gives me a look of understanding, saving the day with,

"Stop prying the poor girl, she doesn't know, god, does anyone know why James Potter does anything? _Everything_ he does is a mystery to me, right?"

There is a chorus of yes's and the subject changes as the topic of Potter and I is dropped and they move on to discussing who the new Head girl and boy might be, telling each other who they voted for, and wondering if it was the right decision.

A mystery. Yes. I remember the first time I saw James Sirius Potter. It wasn't on that platform, or even on this train, I saw him when he went to get sorted into his Hogwarts house, I was already sitting at my table, sorted, and happy, excitement coursing through me as I watched the rest of the 1st years go through what I just had.

There he was, smaller then, skinnier, but still well built, his hair was shorter, and everyone watched him and he didn't mind, he acted as if he was used to everyone watching him, as if he grew up with all the eyes of the world on him, which he did. His eyes were bright, they reminded me of my own, yes, I remember, I thought our eyes, not the colour but the curiosity, the need to learn, shined through both of them, and it was reflected in his, the want to see everything, to memorise it and lock it away in his head.

I thought, in that hall, that was so big, and grand, he didn't seem so small, and insignificant like the rest of us, he seemed bigger, as if he already knew what he wanted. I remember that that impressed me. He sat on that little old stool for quiet sometime, maybe 10 minutes or so, everyone wondered, the first of the Potters to enter Hogwarts again, he had to be in Gryffindor right?

And he was, the sorting hat shouted it out, clear through the air, and he didn't look relieved, but excited, ready for what was to come. He jumped off that stool and walked to the table, a stride of fearless determination, and something else, I couldn't quiet place. I remember how everyone stood up, _everyone,_ and congratulated him, welcomed him, no one stood for me, but I wasn't angry, I was curious. Just like he was.

"I always lose you in your head, even though you are right here,"

V's voice cuts through my thoughts, and draws me out of them, back to the present, my face is pressed against the glass, looking out the window, my breath creating condensation, and frost, the trees run by, as the train speeds on, the scenery is beautiful, the sun dipping into the horizon, slipping behind it as it plays hide and seek with the sky, and sets with blues, greys, purples, oranges and yellows, looking unreal, as if a painting, or a dream.

"You are always the most distant from me in your mind, sometimes I can't find you there,"

I don't need to look at her, to know she is studying me, her lips centimetres from my ear as she whispers in the silence, everyone else must have fallen asleep, curled up with each other, content with the company they have.

I raise my hand and place it on top of hers, giving it a squeeze,

"I'm right here,"

"You know that's not what I meant,"

I nod, my silence answering her question. And my eyes dip close, the sun's rays warming my face,

"How was your summer?" The question is honest, and I love that about V, she is always honest with me, because she knows I rather the hard truth then the happy lie.

"Good, long, but good,"

She repeats her earlier line, "You know that's not what I meant,"

And this time I do reply, "Honest? It was difficult, but I'm here aren't I?"

It is her turn to squeeze my hand back, "Yes, you are here, right here…"

I am shaken awake, the hands I recognise as V's, and I stretch like a cat, bones creaking, and bending at my will. I yawn, mouth hanging large, not bothering to cover it, and drowsily open my eyes, vision blurry. I can see Tempest's cage somewhere by the ceiling, and blink my eyes closed, my limbs feel heavy, and I can feel my eyelashes stick together, and let out a sigh.

"What?" I grumble, drowsy and drifting back to sleep, head resting on the red velvet seat of our train compartment, luggage rattling above us,

"Does June need to use the bathroom?"

"No, your cat is fine; we have our first prefect meeting, and have to change into our robes as well,"

V's voice is hushed and she prods me with her index finger, poking my arm, repeatedly,

I attempt to slap her hand away, but my efforts are fruitless, and I eventually drag myself into an upward position, and massage my shoulder blades, cramped from the tight position I was in.

"Fine, let me get changed,"

I glance around, now more awake, and observant, Lucy and Dom are curled up on one of the long seats, curled into each other, a tangle mass of Weasley. But Roxanne must have been kicked off the small bench, and lies on the black carpeted floor, mouth hanging open, a small trickle of drool running down her cheek. A small tender smile graces my face, and I watch them with kindness in my eyes. Feeling pity and sympathy I grab the blue blanket me and V were using and place it over her sprawled form, tucking her in, and running a hand through her tangled hair, once knotless.

"You coming?"

V calls me, gesturing for me to follow her, "You can change after the meeting, kay?"

I nod in response and follow her out the door.

Trailing behind her by a few paces, she seems to know where she is going, glancing behind to make sure I am there, and every time she does I send her a warm smile, genuine, and she responds in kind.

We arrive, after 5 cars, and many run in's with toads, my least favourite animal, which caused us to pause and find a way around, along with spells going awry, sparks flying through the corridors, and yelps of frustration following them, not far behind.

The compartment is bigger, with a large wood table, circular in shape, and it is already packed with students, though no teachers are present. Badges shine out, proud and new, as everyone whispers to each other, talking amongst one and other. Most of the students are wearing their robes, from the platform, of their school uniform, few are dressed in muggle attire as I am, I wear light grey skinny jeans, that define my long legs, I am short but not badly proportioned, and simple black flats, with a black blouse, but I do wear blue robes over the simple clothing, trying to hide my ordinary profile.

"I told you I'd see you here,"

I stop looking around and look on in horror. James bloody Potter is talking to V, who stands a pace or two in front of me,

V grins, shaking her head in disbelief,

"You're right, I didn't believe the one rule breaker in the whole _entire_ school would be assigned a prefect, I'm impressed, how'd you convince them to appoint you?"

My mouth that hangs open in utter shock, snaps closed, and I take it upon myself to cut in,

"V, you mean how did he get his to parent's convince them to give you the badge,"

Those eyes, rest on me, leaving Veronica behind, they aren't surprised I spoke up; they almost look as if they expected it. He has changed into his robes, and looks regal, but also younger, less of someone unreal, and more present, as if I could reach out a hand and touch him. _No._ I mentally scold myself, and get rid of the thought as soon as it appears.

"Ahhh, Rose, was it?"

His voice is playful, as he pretends to not know who I am,

"Yes, that was it, Potter, right?"

I play his game, my voice not even bothering to hide the layer of ice,

"I do believe that is my name, I'm honoured you remembered,"

I open my mouth to scream, or shout, or, just,

"My parents believe in learning from one's own mistakes, therefore it would be counterproductive to prevent me from doing so, no, this was all Minerva,"

My mouth drops open again, as if; if possible my jaw would hit the floor,

" _Minerva?_ You mean Professor McGonagall, and I doubt you have ever learned anything in your entire sad existence,"

He chuckles, cracking a smile, that makes my heart thud, no, the room is hot, so many people makes it stuffy, I am just cluster phobic, that's all.

"Yes, Minerva, she's a family friend, and as to learning, aren't I top of the class in every subject, 3 years running?"

Anger boils through my veins, white hot, searing, and any previous want to, god knows what, is dispelled,

"No, not all classes, I'm top in divination, 3 years running, so you are wrong,"

He is amused, and runs a hand through his messy black hair, tossing it around,

"Is that _so?_ Come now, divination doesn't count as a subject,"

My eyes widen with dismay, "Yes it is, it _is_ a subject, and I am top of it, and plus we tied on almost everything, so it does count, right V?"

I call for back up, looking at her with pleading, desperate eyes, desperate to prove myself right. V had watched our interaction as if she was observing a sport, and she looks at me with a look that clearly says, 'since when do you argue with James?'

But backs me up anyways, "Yes, it is a subject, it is on the curriculum for a reason James, now come let's find out who is the new Head girl and boy, kay?"

She looks at us both, and that ends that discussion, but I toss Potter another dirty look, which he grins at, much to my displeasure.

We move closer to that table, on top of it, carefully laid out are many schedules, maps of Hogwarts, classrooms, storage rooms, and booklets of what is off limit, and what should be done if you find anyone in these areas. I observe the array of instructions, descriptions and guidelines. There are too many to soak in, so I make a mental note to get copies, or make copies. And I feel a thrill run through me, I am a _prefect_ , and I can't help but feel like I should pat myself on the back, but I resist the urge.

I wonder what Potter will do, the trouble maker that does pranks, on teachers, students, ghosts, everyone, and now has the power to tell other people to stop, it was just twistedly ironic, and again, I felt the anger slice through me.

And I raise a caramel eyebrow delicately, and whisper to Potter,

"How often should I prepare myself to find you in the restricted areas?"

He doesn't need to look at me to know that what I said was no joke, and that he knew why I asked the question. He tilts his head, and I watch him out of the corner of me eye,

He pretends to think, and for a moment I think he is going to ignore me or pretend that he didn't hear me, and then his answer arrives,

"At least twice a week, not counting the weekends, of course, are you talking about after hours or during the day? Because if you want to talk after hours, I am sure we can both find each other, any arrangement works,"

Utter appalled horror paints my face and the only reply I can make out is a loud clearing of my throat, and struggled cough, as if I was choking on something, which I was. I was choking on disgust. James Potter had just asked me out? In a roundabout way? Today was full of surprises, the only pity being they were all bloody Potter's. And the most appalling thing was the fact he didn't even have the decency to look at me while saying it.

I raise both eye brows, and decide that ignoring is the better option, but I can feel him listen to my reaction and he tilts his head back, hair falling to the side with a soft swish, and he smiles as if he won. And he did, but _only_ this once next time I'll get him.

I stop myself, Next time? No, there will not be a next time, I rather my life without Potter in it and it will stay that way. If only I knew what was in store for me in these upcoming weeks, months, years, I would laugh at myself, and say, "You idiot, you have no idea," but I was content with thinking, convincing myself that it would be like every other year. How wrong I was.

V grabs my hand, pulling me back to the small compartment,

Her eyes are a light with pride and respect, "Victorie's head girl!"

Awe fills me as I watch her enter the room. She has a big smile, but tries to hide the grin. Good, I voted for her, as did all 5 of us.

Victorie smiles at her as she walks past, saying, "I knew you'd get it, congrats!"

I suppose it makes sense, and I feel a tad upset, the Weasleys and the Potters get everything in their lives, handed to them; they don't know what struggle is, or how much some people work for that. I glance over at Potter and his expression makes me think, he doesn't look surprised, he looks as if he already knew, he did, didn't he? And if feel a slice of anger again, he is prefect, she is head girl, why not? Their parents are the main sponsors for Hogwarts' finances. Why wouldn't their children be appointed roles in the hierarchy of authority?

Beside Victorie Weasley, who is a proud Gryffindor, is a Hufflepuff, Arnold Michigan, a muggle born who has the biggest heart matching the biggest dreams. He wants to be Minister Of Agriculture in the Ministry of Magic, and some say he has already applied for the job, though I disagree, he is too smart to apply before getting his NEWT examination results. Though he has his life all planned out and it impresses me, no surprise there, either.

We begin the long discussion, talking amongst each other, and getting each of our prefect schedules, I hold mine in my hand, clasped as I read it, interested and excited, responsibility doesn't scare me, it makes me want to prove myself, to try my best, and god I will.

 **Rose BlackThorne – Prefect Schedule**

 **Monday- Inventory of Advanced Potion Levels 8- 8:30 p.m.**

 **Tuesday- Shift on third floor, night patrol 9-11 p.m.**

 **Wednesday- All detentions of 1** **st** **years- oversee 8-whatever time finished p.m.**

 **Thursday- free, able to fill in for other prefects**

 **Friday- Shift on sixth floor, night patrol 9-11 p.m.**

 **Saturday- Hogsmead assistant inspector (no alcohol, illegal goods being brought back into the castle) 8-10 a.m.**

 **Sunday- free, able to fill in for other prefects**

I take a deep breath, I can do that, and though taking inventory is boring, and detention takes long, I feel as if I am looking forward to it all. Why not? This is what I have wanted all 3 years I have been in Hogwarts and now here I am, making myself proud, me and V switch schedules and look each other's over. We both have frees on Thursday and Sunday, but nothing else matches up, oh well, it would have been nice for her to be my partner in the patrols, for patrols consist of two prefects each.

I wonder who my partner is. But I will see soon enough, today is Sunday, and the day is coming to a close, as the sun says its last goodbyes and winks out, its rays following it.

Victorie's voice rings out, "Anyone who would like to take on extra shifts or has space in their schedule please make your way this way, and everyone else have a nice day, change into your robes and prepare all passengers for immediate arrival to Hogwarts,"

V grins at me and gives me a shove towards the table, "Go and get your extra shift nerd, I'll go wake up our numb nut friends, kay?"

I grin right back and nod in response, making my way towards the duo of head boy and girl, who discuss amongst one and other, deep in thought.

"I'm here for the extra shifts? I have space,"

Victorie looks up, and smiles kindly at me, "Right, of course, can you take an extra patrol on Monday?"

I glance down at my schedule and nod in agreement, "Yes, I can, my inventory finishes at 8:30 so from then to?"

She watches me with a sweet look in her eyes, appreciating my want to help, to do my best, "To 10 works, and can you patrol the front entrance of Hogwarts, no one is to go near that door, and no one should be entering or leaving the castle, understood? If they are leaving or entering, and are students subtract 30 points from their respective house and give them one week of detention, immediately. Yes?"

"Yes."

She smiles that smile again, and I feel warm inside, she isn't how Dom describes her to be, self-conceited, never there, horrible sister, annoying, morally superior, no, she is kind and gentle and worthy of the honour she has gotten. I subtract my previous judgement, even if she got the role because of her last name, she deserves it either way, with Potter, I'm not so sure.

I turn to walk away, back to her, and open the sliding door to leave and go and change into my robes, "Wait,"

She calls out, and I glance over my shoulder at her, looking expectant,

"Your one of Dom's friend's right?"

I smile and chuckle under my breath, "Something like that,"

"Good, she needs people like you around to keep her on the right track,"

Her voice is full of laughter and humour, and I laugh with her,

"I need people like her around me to remind me how fun life can be,"

She smiles, but is distracted as a line begins to form in front of her, of prefects asking questions, demanding answers, and she begins to greet them.

I slip away, out the door and down the long corridor, finally arriving back at our compartment, all of my friends are awake, and changing, Roxanne already changed and is petting my cat. Murmuring to her in a sweet sugary voice, and rubbing her ears to and fro. She always has loved my cats, my last one died last year during spring, I remember how devastated I was, I cried for months, I had her for 3 long years, all through my first couple years in Hogwarts, she was a part of me, but Roxy was just as devastated as I was, or even more so.

She sees me in the door way, "She is _so_ small!"

I giggle, "I _know_ ,"

And I open my overstuffed trunk, which is organised into item type, colour, subject and world, muggle, wizarding.

My school stuff placed on the right half. My clothes tucked and rolled on the left. I pull out the Hogwarts uniform. Which consists of high jet black socks that are accompanied with heeled black shoes, around 3 inches tall, that gives me some free height, these have a small black strap across the top of the foot. There is a high-waisted black skirt, that falls to 'just above the knees' which no one abides, but oh well, and then there is also a pleated skirt, black and grey, with wool like fabric for the winter.

A tie of your house's colours, and a white blouse tucked into the skirt, either short sleeve, or long sleeve depending on the weather, and on the blouse, on the little white pocket, is your houses insignia. You also have a jumper in your house's colour, and a sweater. But over the blouse comes your robes, which I pull on, up and over my arms, enclosing my in its warmth, the attire is comfortable, and it already feels like a part of me is going to be okay, those robes are silky to my touch, soft to my touch, familiar to my smell, close to my heart.

I look in the mirror, leaving my friends behind I left the crowded compartment and went to the bathroom to change, I look happier than I have looked in a long time. My blue-green eyes look like the sea, or so my friends have told me, I just see a dull grey. My face is angular, I lost weight over the summer, but not because I wanted to, Hogwarts will fix that though, they have an endless amount of food, at all times. My eyebrows are high on my brow, and my eyelashes are long, curving upwards. My skin is clear except for the flush of excitement, and light dusting of freckles. My hair is pulled into a high ponytail, out of my face, and its brown has never impressed me. I turn away, and step out of the bathroom and walk down that corridor that I have walked a thousand times before.

And I stop and I look out a window, large and clear, as the stars begin to wake up in the dark sky, and bink their eyes, the moon, is full and high in that darkness, but in the distance shining, with light and looking welcoming, is Hogwarts. Looming and tall, rising from that cliff, beautiful and perfect. The lake around it reflects its majesty, and acts as a mirror to its beauty. And it is my destination, not just now, but always, wherever I am, I always want to go back, to stay, to never leave, to come home.

And I feel relief fill me and my face feels wet, as a single tear of pure joy, happiness makes its way down my cheek, tracing my lips as it caresses my skin and then falls only to be caught by my fingertip, and I hold it and tare my eyes from the stunning view, and look down at it. It is clear, perfectly round, like a raindrop, and its transparency frightens me, so I let it go, and I watch it fall through the air and hit the floor.

And I look back out, onto the journey that lies ahead, the adventures we will have, the mistakes we will make, the times that will fly by, and I study it, eyes wide with honest innocence unaware of what is to come, but pretending to be prepared for anything.

And I watch us near that castle, that towers above us, and I smile, and I say thank you, I don't know to who, I don't know why, but I do know that I made it, and I have another year to hide within its walls, protected by its spells, its brick, its teachers, and my friends.

"Thank you…."

And with the wind I hear it's reply, but the voice is not a friends, it is an enemies, and it sounds like velvet, rich, deep, quiet, and not here, as if the future was whispering to me in the wind, and that voice, I recognise it, it's Potter's voice, but he isn't here, so I must be mistaken, I must have not heard, but I swear it said,

 _"_ _Always…"_


	3. Coming Home

~Rose's POV~

1\. Coming home

The train lets out a final whistle as it pulls to a stop, breaks working as it squeals and whines. The world stops flying by outside those clouded windows, clouded with frost. The engine turns on and on, sputtering, but slowly slowing to a pace that matches the turning of the wheels, large, and shined, with pine needles sticking to their rims, now caked in mud, red, dark and gooey, but fresh from the tracks that were torn up in the first rain of summer end.

I watched the rest of the ride with my nose pressed against that glass, eyes wide, and forgetting the one tear, that trickled and fell, long gone, replaced by a thousand memories, all the times I have travelled back, back home on this train, with these people, in these robes, with this heart, beating just as loud, just as scared, just as hopeful.

The world turns by, taking its time now, as the wheels move their last few times, and the bells ring, from the train, kind, and smaller, but answered by larger, louder bells, ringing in response from the castle not too far off in the distance. And the sound of the communication between the both, as if telling everyone in Hogwarts we have arrived, and telling me that I am almost there.

The chatter in the corridor and compartments, roar to loud cries, of excitement and they hum in my ears, as my pulse quickens. I feel the vibrations of their joy, their loud conversations and shouts amongst each other through the floor, and up, from my feet, and through my veins like a wildfire, and then to my heart, my mind, my eyes. And I want to be loud with them, I want to join in that chaos, I want to be one with that sound, but I am not, I observe, an outsider, standing, surrounded by strangers, looking on at their joy, watching their happiness, and I feel the need to find my friends, no, my family.

I push my way through the masses, brushing past people of all shapes and sizes, eyes straining to find my friends through the crowd. I can feel hands graze me, and reach past me, never for me, looking through me as if I were transparent. And I let them look on through, through me, I am so used to being invisible, unseen. In a world that already has people to look at, like James Potter, why look at someone who doesn't have that last name, or any name you want to know. It reminds me.

And I am taken back to the streets of London, where the orphanage is located, is full of people, going somewhere, towards something, or running from the horrors they left behind, but they never notice, and this corridor reminds me of a busy alley way, as people are too caught up in their own little bubbles, their own little lives they can't see me, sometimes I wonder if they can see each other, or just themselves.

The streets in London are not full of wizards, not in the suburbs, close to the river that smells of rotting flesh and fish scales, salt, even though it is fresh water. No, not fresh, the colour of it is not clear, or blue, not even the grimiest shade, no it is a particular tone of brown and black, that looks like melted tar, full of garbage and bones, of god knows what animal.

And there, lost among the brick, the grim skeleton like people, with eyes that only face forward, and minds that only see themselves, is the building I hate. I hate few things in life, hate is such a strong emotion, that to use it you need to think carefully, and practically before saying you hate something, someone. I only hate 3 things in my life, and I can justify each one.

My parents, for giving me up, on that little orphanage step, without allowing me to have a chance to prove myself. I hate people who abuse the power they have been given, and don't have to work hard for what they get, the ones that breeze through life. And lastly, thirdly, I hate that building, with its faded welcome mat that you can't make out the letters on, the orphanage.

The hands reach for me, in the crowd and pull me into an unwanted hug, I let out a surprised gasp, unable to see who it is, I push at their chest, using as much force as I can muster,

"What the hell?"

A laugh, nervous, endearing, young, "Just me, just me,"

And I look up at the moulded blonde hair, sculpted with jell and god knows what else, into what one would think as perfection. His eyes are the colour of ice, a white blue, which reminds me of the clouds before a snow storm. His jaw is prominent, and his face is all shadows, and mystery. But his smile, quirked at the right corner, is something I have missed. But those beautiful eyes hold guilt, and they look at me estranged, and cautious, as if approaching a wild animal.

No wonder I didn't recognise his hands, which are clad in dark green leather gloves, soft at the edges. He wears long sleeves, also green, at just a glance he would look like a forest, full of trees, and snow just at its top leaves, but I am no fool, and I never just glance, I inspect, and what I see instils anger, but different then my anger with Potter, this anger is of someone I thought I could count on, and I refuse to let that anger slip, instead, I let it build a wall, and the wall does not have a door, or an end, it goes forever.

"Let go of me,"

There it is, a voice I reserve for people who hurt me, cold, unfeeling, unreal, not sarcastic, not joking. I am not playing a game, I am telling a coward to stop touching me, or he will lose one of those well-groomed hands.

"I'm sorry about this summer, I,"

"I don't want to hear it, it's okay, don't you see, I'm _perfectly_ fine, until _you_ came along,"

I am bitter, I am unforgiving, I am spiteful, and I watch him let go, hands slipping, as if he knows that he is walking on thin ice, which can break at any moment. So he steps back.

The crowd parts around us, and only _now_ do eyes look at us, the stance, the person in front of me, the anger in my eyes, and they read it like a picture book, unable to look between the lines, unable to see beyond their narrow vision. They think he is breaking up with me, that the summer didn't go well for us. And they are only partially right. The summer didn't go well for us, but it isn't him breaking our friendship off, it's me, and it is nothing more than a friendship, nothing more.

And I feel it that caged feeling I get when I know the only way out is burning down the bridges, and running. So does that make me the coward, or him? I wonder, I wonder which one of us is worse, because I know I am being unfair, but he wasn't there, he didn't visit once. And he now comes to me and expects me to try and understand, and a part of me feels like I should be, understand him, help him, be his friend, but the bigger part of me is on fire, he thinks he knows hard? He was born into a family with money, riches, and yes, society rejects him, but at least they notice he exists, eyes follow him, the newspapers want to know who he dates, who he talks to. If he's gay.

His eyes fill with sorrow, and he grabs for me again, thin hands, not built for sports but for art and writing, he has lost weight over the summer, but not much, still grown taller, and I tare my eyes away before I recognise any other changes. I didn't want to have to recognise changes, I wanted to know what he'd look like, I wanted to spend the summer with him, so I wouldn't have to stare at him and take all the little differences in.

And here he is, begging me to forget and forgive. If I could scream I would, but I don't, I don't let him see how afraid I am that he will walk back down that corridor and never look back. I want to tell him he screwed up but we can fix it, but today is a day too soon, and my sympathies are buried far under the hurt.

"I was busy, you read the news, you know what's going on,"

His voice is cracked, urgent,

"I _know_? You're a kid, you think you can face the world, side by side with your dad, that's great, just remember I exist when you're done,"

My voice is harsh, demanding, done.

He shakes his head, eyes down cast, regret surges in those eyes, and I also look away, I can't, no, I can't.

"You know what, I shouldn't have thought you'd come, but it would have been better if you had written, or told me you couldn't because I waited, and waited, every day, on that street curb, eyes straining in the distance, saying to myself, he'll be here any minute."

He opens his mouth to respond, but I'm not done,

"I have to live in hell, _hell_ , and your excuse for leaving me there, for _3 god damn months_ , is I was 'busy'?"

He gets a word in, with a, "Not busy, trying to help people,"

And then it's gone, the deep feeling of wanting to understand, and I snap, as if I was a cord transmitting electrical waves, but someone cuts me in half, and sparks fly.

" _Helping people?_ Am I _not_ a person? Did I _not_ need your help?"

I am waving my hands, not even sure what I am trying to communicate to him, and the strange looks of the crowd pin me down, and again I remind myself of a wild animal.

I turn to leave, to leave Scorpius Malfoy in the dust, but before I go, I turn back, and look him dead in those liquid eyes, and I insult him, not for fun, but because I needed to see that look on his face, the fear, the anger, to see that I affected him,

"You know even bloody Potter has helped more people than you ever could, and I _hate_ him…"

And as I walk away I call over my shoulder,

"Enjoy fourth year Malfoy…"

As soon as I feel his eyes leave my retreating figure, guilt washes over me like waves, over and over, never ending. What a way to begin, Potter knowing my name, me being a prefect, ending things with Scorp. What was I thinking? An idiot, I always have these moments, where I can't seem to stop myself, and my mind goes numb, and my tongue takes over.

Spinning a web and trapping whoever falls in first.

I was lying when I yelled at him; I was lying when I said I hated Potter. I don't know him well enough to hate him, despise, dislike, ignore, but never hate, he isn't on my short list of things I hate.

But the orphanage is. Mercy Orphanage, the name brings a shadow across my face, a look of fear, and I never let anyone see me be afraid, that wall never cracks, but only there, there I feel weak, empty, less than nothing, and the thought of it makes my hands shake, my breath quicken.

Three months was the longest in a while, I wasn't used to that long, in second year, I spent the summer with Scorpius at a beach house his family owns. Far away from everything, and I blocked out most of first year.

The beach house had a wonderful view of the setting and rising of the sun, a beautiful look at the harbour, watching ships arrive and embark, it was the best 3 months of my life. We were all alone, secluded, far from the hurricane back at Mercy's. I have never seen Scorpius happier, so I don't understand, why leave me waiting, silent, without a word he couldn't make it, all summer long, ignoring my letters, my spells, my presents, my question.

"Where are you?"

He is lying about the newspaper, yes, the world is in chaos, but he wasn't there, his father was, Draco Malfoy, but not him. He wasn't at the beach house; they sold it, I apparated, illegally, and checked. So where was he? Locked up in Malfoy Manor, behind those big iron doors? His parents loved him; they would let him go anywhere, right? His mother was an angel to him, she adored her only child, and his father was easily made proud, under the tough love is his heart, and it beats for him, he wouldn't drag Scorpius into this mess, and definitely not this young, right?

So why lie? My mind flew like the wind, thoughts scattering and unable to form one solid idea, why?

"You look like you just saw someone die"

The voice is clear, and beautiful, innocent, and worried, but not understanding what worry is, just knowing I'm off, that something must be wrong,

"Were almost there you know, don't worry,"

Kind and trying to help me, her voice does make my breathing slow for a moment.

Oh Lucy, the one who jumps to the conclusions as quickly as she can, trying to find the source of my troubled brow, but I can't tell her, I need V; I need V to hold me, with those arms and eyes that just _get_ it. I need my mother, and V is the closest thing I have ever had to that.

My own mother left me a name, and a whisper, wrapped in a blanket of black velvet in the dark shadows of dusk, screaming my lungs out as I call for her, as I beg her, _stay_. At least I imagine that is what I'd be doing; trying to convince her I am worth it, that I won't be a burden, that I just need _her_. But she didn't stay, so my heart still beats, and I have made myself into a defence system, attack, retreat and so on.

Sometimes I stay up at night, staring at the stars through the cracks in the wooden ceiling at my small, confined room in the orphanage, and I look at those diamonds in the sky, and I wonder, do they know how precious they look, shining there, radiant, or do they wish they could shine brighter, do they also fear falling?

I look at the universe that covers me in its skied blanket, and I think, "Would she be proud, would she see me and want me back, and regret?" "Or would she say 'shine brighter'"

"I'm trying, I'm trying to make you proud" I whisper into that darkness, and I tell all I've done to make her so, the grades, the prefect badge, the homework always done, not one detention, top in almost every class, never late for curfew, with good friends, and learning to paint and draw, and write and do, everything, _everything._

And sometimes I don't get an answer. And others, I argue in my head, until sleep drags me under…..

"What's wrong with you two?"

Dom is in far too happy of a mood to let me concern her, and I let her happiness warm the tips of my heart,

"Nothing, we were practicing Lucy's divination, staring into each other's souls, the usual,"

Dom claps her hands over her ears, eyes filled with horror, shaking her head, as she begins to yell at me,

"NOPE! No divination, no learning, we haven't even gotten there, give it a bloody rest!"

I raise my hands in defence, "Okay, okay, okay!"

And she slips past me, getting down all of our bags, excitement coursing through her. And I observe it with a distant look in my eyes. As if I couldn't, I couldn't reach out and grab hold of it that bliss. It was too far away. Too far gone.

Lucy follows her and Roxy trails behind her, still not fully awake.

"What is wrong?"

The voice is comforting, like a soft pillow that I could burry myself in and sob. V's voice is always comforting.

"I saw Scorpius,"

Her eyes widen a little, realization sparking, and sadness as well, she wraps her arms around my waist, loosely, chin wresting on my shoulder,

"Crap, I thought it would be something like that…. Did he tell you why he wasn't there?"

"Yes." My voice is broken at the edges and I feel small and cowardly as I shrink into her embrace,

"But what he said makes it worse,"

She sighs, jaw clenching with anger, "He lied didn't he, that _bastard_ "

"No V, he is no bastard, but yeah, he lied,"

She is shaking her head, eyes squeezed shut,

"Why does he keep treating you like an idiot, you know you are the smartest person I know,"

I send her a sad smile, but no tears run, I feel drained, as if a year has already passed and the train should start taking me back. Why did today seem like forever?

"I'm fine,"

She opens her eyes, "No, but I will make sure that you will be fine…"

I am off the train, feet hitting the pavement, loud, my luggage following behind me, floating in the air with a simple Levitation spell, and flick of my wand. The carriages wheels are loud in the distance, and my keen ears pick up all the familiarities, Hagrid shouting for the first years, loud and booming, but the kindest, gentlest voice.

The stars bright as they all fall in salute, dashing through the sky, and flying towards the castle, we all watch in awe, but I smile, I remember the first time I saw the salute, which was developed after the great war, a reminder of the spells racing towards Hogwarts walls, as Harry Potter took his last stand against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I remember thinking they were bombs flying through the air; I remember how I wanted to know, to understand, to learn.

I suppose they serve that purpose as well, but the reminder seems lost in the beauty, the stars fly onwards, so close to Hogwarts' tall towers, I flinch for them, but they bounce off, as if they hit a barrier, just like in the war, and they fly back up to their original positions in that darkness, and I feel free, my worries of Scorpius and what the year will bring are forgotten, and I am charging through the crowd, hands interlaced with V's and Dom's as I drag them towards a carriage, that stands almost vacant, for the only person who occupies it is Sheila Rowle, a pureblood, who is James Potters girlfriend, at least, last time I checked.

Potter never keeps his girlfriends for long, some say he plays ball on the Quidditch field and in the Hogwarts halls. I say, he doesn't respect women; he isn't capable of long term commitment, which makes him a child with a big body to match his ego. Not that I think about Potter ever, just sometimes, it becomes a tad difficult to ignore him completely when my friends all love him. I suppose one must love their family, whatever family they are dealt with, but I wouldn't know. And all my friends, other than Scorpius are related to bloody Potter.

I put on my best fake smile, and add an extra zest to my happy voice,

"Hi Sheila, how was your summer?"

The question you must ask out of polite attitude, if I didn't ask she would have to ask me, and I would have to stumble out a lie, I don't like lies, they breed, and they grow, and you can cut off one head, but 2 more will take its place. Rumours will spread.

She looks at me, stunningly beautiful, it isn't too hard to see what Potter sees in her, or more like, outside of her. She is a Gryffindor, but I personally think she doesn't deserve the title, bravery isn't a word in her vocabulary, or perhaps, like Veronica always says, I judge too quickly and don't know someone just by an observation. I suppose she's right, but I want to believe James Potter is this shallow, that he likes girls who have the short blonde hair and brown eyes, the nice figure and low IQ.

"Great, I spent it with Jamie,"

The smile drips with disgust, but stays planted, "That sounds so… Fun,"

"Yeah it was, he helped me study and get ready for this year, he is so sweet,"

I nod my head, swallowing the bile rising in my throat, "Isn't he? Isn't he V, sweet?"

V raises an eyebrow at me looking amused, and nods, "Yes, he _is_ ,"

She sends me a quick smile of ironic payback, and steps forward to give Sheila a big hug.

They start chatting, already knowing each other well from this summer and a ripple of sadness washes towards me, but I push it away, rejecting it.

Lucy and Roxanne walk towards our carriage, and then, loud through the crowd and the whole station is his voice, projected through a microphone spell, that allows your wand to become one of those muggle devices that makes you louder.

His voice is exciting, it makes my blood hum in response, and the crowd's focus changes to that voice, just like his laugh it is addictive, but I am careful with it, because like a drug, I don't want to _need_ it, to not be able to _live_ without it.

"Gryffindor Quidditch team, let's take to the sky!"

And there he goes, pushing off the ground and into the world high above, soaring into the night, he is on his own brand of broom, called "Potter Two-one-o" (Potter 2-1-O)after the century he was born into, he has the latest model as he flies the wind, becoming the wind itself, and all eyes are on him, his robes flapping in the heavy air, hair streaming behind him, he uses no hands as he controls the broom with just his legs. Some say that Harry was good, but James? Both of his parents were brilliant Quidditch players, mom and dad, it's simply in his blood.

And there behind him, Lucy and Roxanne grabbing their brooms, and running into formation, all pushing off, the Gryffindor Quidditch team takes to the heavens forming a diamond, Potter at its pointed lead, and they look like angels, the stars shining on them with a tender light, making them seem to glow, all follow James' lead as he dips on his broom, and takes off like a thunder bolt. Laughing at the top of his voice, screaming to the wind, eyes alive, and in that moment I wish, I wish I was up there, racing the stars, and chasing the clouds, fingers running through their cold moisture, eyes never looking down, but ahead, without giving a damn about what lied before me, reckless.

And then he goes of course, yelling an order to the team to continue flying, as he stops at our carriage, 10 feet above us. Looking down, he always seems to be looking down. His eyes rest on me for the quickest of moments, and he must see in my face my want, my want for that life, because he sends me a small grin, his eyes twinkling as if he captured two stars within them, before his eyes rest on Sheila, of course he came for her.

"You gonna help me lead this parade, or you gonna rain on it?"

She blushes and giggles, and stands, jumping down from our carriage and running to the front, empty one, that James' and his friends luggage occupies, and she raises the Hogwarts banner, along with the Gryffindor one, and waving them in the air, the procession begins, the Gryffindor Quidditch team, led by their noble captain make their way towards the castle, away in the distance. And I watch him shout and scream, laughing and roaring, as he, not her, not the team, but him, leads us all, all the students, as the carriages begin to roll, and rumble forwards, and I let them, face turned upward, eyes to the sky, he leads us. I suppose that is what he was born to do, to lead.

Eventually my eyes face forward; V and Dom sit with me, surrounded by Sheila's, Roxy's, Lucy's and our luggage. I look at the carriage, soaking in the missed dark metal iron, painted in black and cushioned seats with chipped wooden backs, and pitch black leather harnesses tied to the beautiful Thestrals. I have always admired their wings, and how they look like horses, but their shadows, as if the obscured darkness you see in the grass, when they walk. Their eyes fascinate me, but in them I see a tragedy. Painted like a masterpiece the flashes of a high tower, and the world spinning by beneath it, the ground running at me, the scream, torn from my lips "NO!" And I look away, some things are better left unsaid, and some mysteries are better not solved, and that look in those eyes, the fear that they reflect, it sends a chill down my spine, so I ignore and I pretend that connecting to those harnesses is thin air, and that I can see nothing.

I like nothing, an emptiness you can fill with your mind, you can create anything out of nothing but if something is there, then you have to accept it, or pretend, but pretending only lasts so long, and one day you will make a mistake, and slip, and someone will notice that you can see so much more than nothing, that nothing is something you can't even remember.

The ride is short, bumpy, but beautiful, I watch the lake run by, the little boats bobbing in the water as the moon guides their way, the 1st years, biting their nails, and eyes wide, they can't believe, could it really? I know that feeling, we all had that feeling.

And there it is, rising from the shadows, and peering out of the dark, lighting my path, it's Hogwarts. And my blood is burning, my breath is quick, my eyes wide, my heart hammering,

"Almost there…."


	4. Flying High, Flying Home

~James' POV~

1\. Flying high, flying home

The sky surrounds me, capturing me in an embrace and I let it take me in, daring me to fly as high as I can. And I let out a scream, long, clear, as I let the emotions out, they fly in that wind with me, but whenever I take to this sky, they are left behind, and my freedom is absolute.

Hogwarts is just ahead, and I call out the command, as we begin to make formation to land. And I head for the ground, 100 miles an hour, laughing as I watch them watch me. The people who don't know me, their eyes are full of worry that I'll crash, that I'll die. I hear a couple cries for me to stop, but I don't. The people who do know me are waiting for me to make my entrance, they know the show I put on, the mask I paint.

I feel the adrenaline roaring in my ears, and common sense is also thrown to that wind, and I speed, the ground coming towards me, faster, and faster, and I feel my heartbeat, my pulse, and I close my eyes, head titled back, as I enjoy the rush, and with a sharp turn, I let go of my broom, eyes still closed, and do a flip through the air, legs flying, in oblivion, with no help, or anything, and I land on bent knees, hand reaching up and catching my broom.

The crowd becomes alive, screaming my name, laughing with me, chanting Potter over and over, they love the act, they love me, and I feel their eyes, they watch me in awe, and I can't help the smirk that slips onto my face. I feel the crowd's emotions and I feed on them, they make me stronger, they make me happier. I was born into this crowd, and I have grown to know how to control it, the thousands, all looking up at me as I look down and observe them.

Arms are thrown around my neck, skinny, small, and lips press into mine, Sheila's lips. She is proud she got to be with me, and she is proud to see the people watching on, that she got to begin this year. We started dating before summer, it is something that just happened, and though many may think her lack of character and more prominent features may have something to do with our relationship, I liked the fact that she was funny, she could make me laugh, and she never asked once why I did something, she never made things hard, perhaps it wasn't healthy, that our relationship was so one sided, but sometimes you need someone who won't ask, who doesn't really care.

Her lips are desperate, asking for a response, unsure of herself. And I give her the response she wanted, lips moulding into hers, as I take control of the kiss. My tongue darting across her bottom lip and she smiles at the gesture.

It is a public display, and we are both only doing it because their watching. Because all eyes are on us.

I pull away, and put my hand over her shoulder as I walk towards those stairs, they are big, grand, and I feel the happiness sing through me, I am okay, I am here, with my friends, my family, and I don't need to face the world, just this small sliver of it. And I can handle that. I have walked up these steps a thousand times. The first time I was only 5 years old, and my dad wanted me to see my future, I had been begging him for years, and he let my totter up each step, falling down the slippery stairs more than once before I mastered it, but never once did I cry, in fact every time I fell determination would brighten my eyes, and when they offered to help I would shout no! And try again.

People surround us, the crowd surging up those stairs, laughing and pushing at people, trying to be the first to enter. But I stay ahead, allowing Sheila to get lost in that crowd, somewhere behind me, and I place both of my strong hands on each of those doors, the wood cold beneath my fingertips, and I push, and they creak open, slowly, as the memories flood in, and I can't help the feeling of excitement, a year ahead of me, and this time I am again determined to do something, but maybe not something like walking upstairs, no, I want to get to know a girl, I want her to get to know me.

And the crowd runs forward, feet hitting the marble floor, and they chase each other into that large empty, entrance hall, the chandeliers hanging high above us lighting the room, and making it alive. Paintings hand on the tall carpeted walls, and thousands of stair cases and corridors lead off of this magnificent room.

And I feel my friends, their hands on my shoulders, laughing, Fred Weasley, John Prewett, Lorcan Scamander, Lysander Scamander, Frank and Archer Longbottom. All Gryffindors, clapping my back, eyes alight with joy, happy to be here, excited for what this year will bring, and in this moment we are all one, all going into 4th year, all ready to create a legacy worth remembering. To make our mark on this chapter in history.

And I grin back at them, mirroring their excitement.

Everyone is heading for the great hall, leaving me in the dust, my friends follow the current of people, and they now I will follow as well, just at my own time, my own pace.

And I stop and look back, at the empty carriages, the students surging past me, and I see, one carriage is not empty, not vacant. And it makes me turn and cross my arms over my chest, leaning casually against one of those tall doors I just pushed open, and I watch the person, I have watched her grow, with me, her and V were instant friends, and though we only met in second year, and that was catastrophic, I still feel as if I know her, as if I know her well.

She sits, the moonlight washing over her, and making her look unreal, she looks like a goddess bathed in that light, as if she couldn't actually exist. Her eyes are looking at this castle, observing every well-known feature, and taking in the familiar aspects, and I can see the tears, like liquid silver, not slipping onto her prefect skin but filling her eyes with an emotion I can't quite place. And they sit on her lower eyelashes, but never tip onto her check; there they tremble, with the wind, like her breath. She does not feel the cold, or perhaps she does, beneath her awe, her look of wonder is not for me, as most peoples would have been, she simply is inspired by an old building, and it fascinates me. That someone so beautiful can have a mind so talented, so one of a kind.

Her hair looks like the sun, I have always loved the way it catches the light, the different shades of gold and bronze making it look other worldly. Her eyes are green like the sea, not stormy like earlier today, but calm, and so enthralling I feel like I could drown in them, in her sea.

Her robes fit her form, and I can't help but admire how much she has developed this summer, her hips fuller, her breasts more prominent, and she is taller by an inch and a half, her cheek bones are now high, and they look like they could cut me if I touched them, as if they could draw blood, and they are not flushed like they were before, they are white, they are ghostly, but she is not transparent. Her skin is clear, and light, the freckles more visible, and she no longer has the simple blemishes of pimples, she seems to have grown from a girl, a child into a woman, into a masterpiece, and I get the strange urge to want to paint her, and capture the way she looks, so serene and incredible, I can't stop looking, trying to memorise each detail. Many years that we have known of each other's existence, and yet only now am I struck by her true beauty, and I want it, in my hands, her in my arms, I want to write her letters, to tell her how incredible she truly is, but I don't dare break this still.

Earlier today, when I lied about not knowing her name, it was because I wanted to hear that voice, to hear the way she said my name, the way her words seemed to encage me, and the way my charm slipped off her. I remember when we met in second year; I remember the way she had looked at me.

Her eyes were bigger, wider and more afraid, not sure what to expect from me, she has always been quick to judge, but she only judged me after I opened my mouth, not before.

"I'm Rose, and you are James Potter right?"

I remember how surprised I was that she was so upfront, and that her voice was so mature, she sounded innocent, even then I wasn't a good person, but she didn't know and how the way she said my name seemed to set me a flame, and I felt the need for her to say it again, and again, and again.

I remember nodding, ducking my head, I was nervous, but I wouldn't let her see it,

"That's me name, Daisy,"

I remember how she ground her teeth together in anger; I have always been able to get her mad in seconds, in less than a minute. And I know that I was cocky, arrogant, that I still am. I remember even then pretending to not know who she was, pretending I had no idea, that I had gotten it wrong,

"My name is Rose, _not Daisy,"_

I ignored her, and sent Veronica a small smile, Veronica is the one who introduced us, leading Rose to the Gryffindor table and saying "James I have someone I'd like you to meet,". I remember seeing her, her hair messy, clutching a book to her chest, breath quick, and hoping I didn't notice.

"Your friend didn't hear me, V, I said Lily,"

I tehn stood, not bothering ot finish my breakfast, and I walked away, leaving her in the dust, only stopping to call over my shoulder,

"See you around, _Lily,"_

I remember how it was the only flower I could think of at that moment, on second thought perhaps it was a metaphor, for my future, for our future, my grandfather, the original James Potter fell in love with a quick tempered Lily, perhaps it is my fate to also fall in love with a flower. Flowers are beautiful, they grow, and bloom, and wilt as they die, but a rose, it has thorns as it grows, and before it wilts it opens and its walls fall down, as you see the kindness beneath each petal, a secret behind each leaf. I just hope that flower won't wilt as quickly as Lily did, dying for my father before she could finish her life, before she could live forever.

Sheila has found me again, and kisses me on the cheek, having to stand on her tip toes,

"What are you looking at?"

I don't take my eyes from the beautiful girl, no woman, that sits in that carriage, hair fanned out across the seat, as she tilts her head back looking at the stars, but out of the corner of her I, she sees me, but I do respond,

"I am looking at the flowers, aren't they one of a kind?"'

She looks at the grounds in front of us, and there is a flower garden, with a large assortment of beautiful plants in full bloom, shining under the moonlight, shining like she is, they also do not look real.

"Yes" She says, "They are beautiful, which one is your favourite?"

And I hear her question as if from far away,

"The Rose, the Rose is my favourite..."

~Rose's POV~

Potter does a back flip, perfectly flying through the air, and catching his broom in one of those strong hands as he lands. I hear the people shout in happiness, in wonder, and my stomach does a flip of its own as I see Sheila rap her tentacles around him, lips pressed to his, and I look down, away from the spectacle and busy myself with making sure I have everything, both cages, with both animals, my trunk, my back pack, me.

And when I finally do look up the show has ended, and he is walking towards those great doors, leading us all to the front step, and I watch his muscles flex as he pushes them open, and the crowd goes forward, excited to be back, and wanting to get food in their stomachs, and air in their lungs, and sleep in their bodies.

He lets them go onwards without him, they glance at him as they walk by but only his friends, and relatives approach him, and over the many heads bobbing in the crowd I lose sight of him.

V breaks the awed silence, with a "Thank god,"

And Dom just grumbles under her breath about how the only good thing about being back is the food and the boys. But I ignore both comments, taking in the sight before me.

I have envisioned Hogwarts over and over during the summer, sketching it, painting it, drawing it, but never, never enough, never perfectly. What I like about Hogwarts is the way it never changes, the way you can count on its perfection that it won't fall down during the summer, or gain weight, gown an inch or cut off its hair, it won't magically stat wanting to know me, and it won't break my heart.

Though in the papers I did read they were adding an extra wing. Something about how all the new classes and students needs more space, along with adding 3 more floors, but over the 4 years I have been at Hogwarts, renovations have become common, since the war, everyone in the wizarding world, from any country wants to go here, and it has become more difficult to get in with all these interested people, especially for muggles, but it has also increased the diversity levels, which I do appreciate. The building off all the extra rooms and space upsets me; I like knowing my home, and having an extra wing added, more floors, is like someone building a garage without asking me where or how, or what colour I'd like. But at the same time I want to explore, and see every room, memorise every floor.

There are lanterns lining the large structure, and lights shine out of the millions of windows. There is a large stair case, that leads up to those opened doors, it is a creamy marble, lined with stone, which has exactly 25 steps, and is wide and inviting and makes me feel like a queen, or like royalty, and this is placed in the direct middle of the castle, with a huge railing. The doors are 15 feet tall, stretching on and on, a dark, black wood of mahogany and black oak, it has a dragon carved into each door, encrusted in jewels and stones, that make it seem to come alive, with large knockers, of metal that are circular, forged in the dragons breath, it also has huge brass nobs, that must be cold to the touch. And their engraved in the middle of the doors is "Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry". These doors must be 6 feet wide, and can fit quite a large amount of people, and the crowd flowing into them, is almost dispersed.

V grabs my hand,

"Me and Dom are going to go in, and see Lucy and Rox, kay? Take your time?!"

I nod, a smile on my face, "I'll take my time,"

And they hurry inside, running up those stairs, and avoiding the crowd, skimming around it and disappearing within the castles walls and into that grand entrance hall.

I watch the crowd dissipate, and disappear, and my heart is thudding loud in my ears, tears of joy trapped in my eyes, as I look at that castle, that world, and I feel someone watch me, but I don't look his way, his eyes are not familiar, and I am just getting used to being a subject under that gaze, that seems to paralyze me, he is taking me in, each detail, each flaw, and I feel as if I am naked, with no barrier or protection, no clothes to hide beneath, no words to dive under, and I feel as if he can see the purple splotches that line my body, beneath the fabric, his gaze is not demanding, he does not expect me to return it, but it is sincere, in the silence that hangs between us, I feel as if he is right next to me, no one has ever looked at me like that, ever analysed me like that.

But no blush flushes my cheeks, the moment does not need it, it does not require attraction, or words, it requires a human responsibility. I feel responsible for that gaze, responsible for the way he is looking at me, as if I am his. But I am not, so I feel responsible for making sure I am not, I am responsible for not letting him affect me, responsible for not becoming an object that he can get, like he gets everything, so I resist, and continue to admire the beauty of the cliff, the gravel pathway that the vacant carriages line up to that castle.

But then his gaze changes, it goes from sharp and owning, to more reserved, more of a distant study. And out of the corner of my eye, I watch Sheila talk to him, and him respond, eyes not leaving me. And then she takes him by the hand and leads him away, away from me and the moment breaks into a thousand pieces and I can't pick up one.

I sit there for what feels like hours, days, but it is only minutes, across the lake the boats soar nearer and nearer, and I should go in before they arrive, before the house elves come down to the carriages and take our luggage to our new dormitories.

I step down, onto the ground I have missed and I walk towards those stairs, hand gently touching the railing, skinning the surface, warm beneath my fingertips, warmed by the thousands of hands who just touched it, my fingers on the cold door knobs, right where Potters hands were moments ago, eyes trained ahead. The entrance hall is spacious, but beyond it the roar of the crowd can be heard, the great hall, where we eat our meals, and have our dances and I am drawn to the voices, to the people, to my home. And I walk towards it, and I stand by its door way, looking, watching in. I watch and I breathe and I let the moment be captured in my mind, trapped in my head, I stand alone, in the middle of the broad entrance, back straitened, hair slipping down my back, robes falling of my shoulders and pooling around me.

And I raise my eyes, my lips parting in amazement, in true wonder, and my breath is taken, stolen from me without my consent. And I feel the emotions choke me, and I struggle to not laugh, or scream or shout, to tell everyone here I am, didn't you miss me?

The sky above is night, charmed to look like the outside, and candles float in the air, thousands of them. There is the head table, where the teachers talk amongst each other, Professor McGonagall, as headmistress, sitting in the middle of the long mahogany table, sipping her glass of white wine and watching on, looking at everyone and soaking it all in.

And then the house tables ,for the four houses, Slytherin, closest to the doors, with green banners and a silver snake, its fangs dripping with poison, and from its table do the pair of ice blue eyes watch me, waiting, hoping I'll look back, I don't.

The Hufflepuff table is next to it, to its immediate right, yellow and black shines through and above it, no one from there knows who I am. And then there is Ravenclaw, beautiful blues and bronze paint it, and from it Veronica looks at me, waiting for me. And then next to it, is Gryffindor, red and gold, oranges as well, blind me, and from it Potters eyes glance up at my form, standing by the door, and he expects me to look at him, and so I do.

The sea meets the sun as our eyes collide, my green, blue, and his hazel, gold, and then he looks away. And I walk, the long walk across that large room, past the head table, and I walk past the Slytherins, not my house, the Hufflepuff, I am loyal but never honest, as much as I dislike lying. And I stop before I reach the Gryffindor table and I turn and I walk to the seat V saved for me.

I am Ravenclaw, not because the hat said so, but because I want to learn and because I don't want power, I am not honest, I am not brave but I value knowledge, I crave it, I live for it, and I would like to know everything, knowledge is the only power I seek, is the only truth I look for, it is the only bravery I understand.

And as my legs swing over the wooden bench and take my seat, with the blue table cloth matching my blue tie, and the eagle watches over me, its beak a beautiful copper, the dishes before me are empty, the food has not yet appeared, the plates are etched with blue on its rims, and the forks are bronze. As I observe I feel that caged feeling I have had till now, all 3 months, at Mercy's Orphanage, on that street curb waiting, reading V's letters, and crying myself to sleep, I am now free, this room, this seat has unlocked my cage.

V sits next to me, eyes inquisitive,

"You did take your time,"

I glance at her, but continue looking over the room,

She sighs, and raises her eyebrows, asking me a question that brings my cheeks a flame, and gains my full attention,

"You want to know who else was late?"

I pretend to not know what she is talking about, maybe I was mistaken, maybe someone else came in, and ask,

"Who? Anyone I know?"

Raising my eyebrows right on back at her, and she tilts her head, calculating, V is brilliant, her mind is intense, hard to understand, but I have mastered her deception, after all friends now each other better than anyone does, and we are practically sisters,

"No, I didn't think you knew him, but maybe I'm wrong,"

I bite my lip, and glance down, and then back up, my eyes meeting hers,

"Who is it?" I ask, impatient, and hoping she won't say the name I think she is thinking of,

"James Potter, my cousin, he was late too, Sheila had to go get him,"

"Sheila, _his girlfriend_ ,"

She stresses the word, as if not sure I know who Sheila is, and making sure the word sticks with me.

There is an accusation in her voice, a daring way she looks at me; she is asking me a question she doesn't want to say aloud, so I say it for her,

"Do you think he's cheating on her, this early in the year? Come now V, he's horrid, but not _that_ bad,"

She looks down, and then back up, her eyes meeting mine,

"You'd know,"

I pick up my dark blue napkin, with the embroidery on the edges, placing it on my lap, thinking up an answer, and I decide on the truth,

"I wouldn't, I don't know him, he watched me watch the castle, and she came and they left, t _ogether_ , we didn't say one word to each other, if you want, you can go ask him, I'm sure he knows why,"

She nods, she knows me well enough to know when I am lying and when the truth is ringing out.

Then she looks me in the eyes and says,

"He's been awfully interested in you all day, James may do things I don't understand but neither you or me is a fool,"

I giggle; I can't help it, and push her in the arm,

"You think _I know_ why he is acting so weird? I have no idea, about anything, especially Potter,"

She laughs with me, and the serious look is gone, "You're right, you know nothing, but I love you for it,"

I gasp and push her again, appalled, but humoured by her upfront nature,

"Okay, _fine,_ I love you too,"

There is a silence, the 1st years are streaming in, eyes wide, hearts in their throats, praying and excited. There are so many of them, it reminds me, of when we all went there, and the little stool is brought out, and so is the old worn hat.

"I missed you,"

I lean into her, my hair falling into my eyes, and I let it, not caring that it rubs against my skin and makes it itch, I am sicere, and honest, it sums up all of those 3 months, that were forever,

She pulls me closer, and smiles into my hair,

"I missed you too…"

And I am home. I feel that last breath, trapped in my lungs, the last bruise, the last hope fade and I am free again, I am me again and I breathe in the air, the happiness, and the dreams. I breath it all in.

And as I watch the evening roll by, barely able to pay attention to anything, the speeches, the school song, the sorting, the feast, the food that passes my lips, the laughter in the air, Potter deciding to stand on top of the Gryffindor table and show off his gymnastic skills, causing me to put my head in my hands, the stumbled tired walk up to my dorm, and everything blacks out.

But as I close my eyes, and the world slows, and the long days comes to an end, and closes, before my eyes take me miles away to the dreams my mind has already had waiting in line, I think, and my hands slip over the warm sheets, the silk and cotton soft on my fingertips,

Home.

I'm home.


	5. Reminders of First Days

~Rose's POV~

1\. Reminders of first days

His hands are strong, they seem to hold me upright, his arms wrapped around my waist, his lips pressed to my neck, just millimetres between them and my trembling skin. I can hear the air rushing by us as he controls the broomstick with little effort.

We are miles above the world that spins on bellow us, but with him, the world is forgotten and it is just us, all alone, the sun bathing us in its light, gold streaks warm on my clothes, warm on my skin. I can feel the cold air, it smells like Hogwarts, so we must be there, and I look down, eyes drowsy, as I lean into him.

The world is truly beautiful from up here, I can see the highest turrets, and the lake that looks like a mirror, and in it I can see us, his hands around me, pulling me close, the water catches his smile, that seems to match mine, we are both so happy, my hair running behind me, loose and tangled in the wind. The broom shines in that light of the rising sun, as dawn graces us with its presence, and he enjoys the warmth of its rays.

We are all alone, no one watches, no one breaks our moment, and I wonder, somewhere in my mind, why am I here? Why do I like the way he touches me? The way his hands feel reassuring, comforting, _familiar._ There must be a mistake, this can't be real, and yet it is so vivid, so perfectly incredible it is like I could reach out and touch it, touch him, but I don't dare because I am afraid he is made of smoke and will disappear, and a part of me doesn't want him to disappear.

I can feel his breath tickle my skin, and cause me to giggle, throwing my head back, as I laugh at the sensation, and I feel him chuckle at me, he finds the way I laugh amusing, maybe adorable. And I like the way I can feel the vibrations of his laughter through me, as if they are within me, as if he is in my head, not beside me, not holding me, and I feel a sadness as I reach out, my hand reaching for him, palm upward, an offering, a question, and hope is in my eyes, I am hoping he will take my hand and prove my mind wrong, prove to me that he is real. My palm is glowing in the sunlight, the clouds around us turning purple and red and it looks like heaven, the mist around us making us look like gods, flying high above our world, our lives. The messes beneath us that we ignore.

My palm is full of an adoring want, maybe even a need, for him to take it, to put one of those hands on mine, and make this moment real, to show me it is more than perfect, to show me he cares.

His laughter stops and he shakes his head, his voice like velvet, and I am trapped in its words,

"Wake up Rose"

I want to scream, I want to tell him no, that I don't want to wake up, that I don't want to face the world without him, and he seems to understand my fear, maybe because I see it reflected in his eyes, those eyes of gold, that seem to be the sun itself, they cage me, they warn me, they enthral me. I am caught in his snare,

"Wake up Rose; you have to wake up,"

And he fades away, becoming one with the wind, he is transparent, he is not here and he reaches for me, his own palm facing upward, but it is too late, and I am all alone on that broom, flying towards the ground, and my eyes close and it is all gone, the world, the sun, the lake, his lips. And I miss it, I want to cry out, but I don't dare, I don't dare.

The sound is loud and ear splitting, so I have to cover my ears to block it out, the way it rings in my ears and through my skull, vibrating every bone in my body. This vibrating is different than his laugh, his laugh wasn't real, it was in my head, but this is real, this is here. The sound, it pulls me from my dream, and causes me to sit up suddenly, hands flying to my face, covering it in horror.

What was that? What had my mind been doing? I can only remember fragments, but along with the roaring sound of the alarm is another sound, distant as if from a different world, a different planet, cutting through the loud ring, and cutting through my thoughts, "Wake up Rose" and it's his voice, no, I am imagining it, it can't be his voice, he isn't here, it's all in your head. All in my head. He is in Gryffindor tower, he is across, on the other side of the castle, so he isn't real, he doesn't even know my name, he doesn't even know who I am.

A groggy, desperate, "What the hell?"

Is mumbled from the bed next to me, V's bed, and I hear a groan of distress, as I myself roll over to block out the horrid sound. My back hitting the pillows, my hand disappearing beneath them, I can't remember why I sat up; I can't remember what woke me up. But now that the memory is gone I search my head for it, hoping to find a fragment of what it was. But I can't remember.

I give up my frantic search and take in my surroundings, eyes squeezed shut, my hands tracing the bed, all of its 60 heavenly inches, that I map out with my fingertips, it is warm, the shades of blue I can see even with my eyes shut, the bottom sheet light, like a lilac blue, or the sky on a clear day in the morning. The layers of blankets going from that light blue and fading into darker tones, until the top cover, fluffy and huge, is almost pitch black. My head rests on an array of pillows, that I could burry myself under, beneath, in between.

I have slept better than I have all summer long, in my bed, with my pillows, and the blankets I love, but I still miss the summer days, where you don't need to get up when the alarm blares, because, in fact, there is no alarm, blaring. No need to get out of bed, or get dressed, the urgency to not be late. There are no classes, and no long day ahead. No work to be done, no want to get showered and ready. But the alarm also reminds me of the routine I adore, the way I get used to its everyday ways, my friends I will get to see and have class with. I value it all.

The alarm continues to ring through the still, and everyone in the Ravenclaw fourth year dorm begins to come alive, with this loud sound awakening them, us, me, from our deep slumbers. The snoring comes to a close, and people begin to groan and whisper to one and other, the air becoming alive, the still becoming broken.

Classes start at 8 o'clock sharp, and yet I am unable to get myself out of bed, and get changed so I can get something to eat before the morning begins. I open my eyes, my vision is blurry from sleep, and the room seems to form into one blue glob, the blue on top of the blue, the different shades and tones, the different types, the different objects, it paints a sky, or just the colour.

My hand snakes out from beneath the heavy blankets, and grabs at the clock, bringing it closer to my face as I glare at it in distaste. Alarms and I have never gotten along, I dislike how they don't know when to shut up, but I use a muggle alarm clock simply because with a spell, all you have to mumble is silence, and they do go quite, with muggle alarms you must pick up the goddamn thing and do it yourself.

Veronica's voice, still muffled with sleep, drifts from the bed next to mine,

"What time is it?"

Blinking a few times so that my vision is cleared and the black electric clock is recorded in my head, I reply,

"Seven fifteen,"

In response to my answer there are collective groans throughout the room, of tired young girls, who refuse to crawl out of bed and get dressed and ready for the day ahead.

V's voice is clearer when she talks again,

"What time is Flitwick handing out our schedules?"

I rub my eyes, they are watery from the sleep, but the bags beneath them that I saw yesterday in the mirror of the Hogwarts express's bathrooms are gone, I can feel my skin becoming more healthy after the long sleep, of many hours. It feels like I have had weeks to regenerate myself, it is amazing what one day can do, what one good rest can do.

"8 o'clock sharp, at least I think so,"

V rolls out of bed; I hear her feet hit the wooden floors, as she slowly drags herself to her bathroom. Her robe making a soft sound as it scraps the floor behind her, she calls over her shoulder, "You coming idgit?"

I moan in sadness, waking up sucks, and I stretch like a cat, bones creaking awake, and blink a few times, as everything starts coming into focus. And I lift a hand and move the heavy dark blue drapes aside and stand to go get ready for the day ahead of me. Groaning all the time, as I drag myself to the bathroom.

The great hall is busy with the sound of laughter and nervous chatter, but emptier than yesterday, this morning is Hufflepuff Quidditch try outs, so their table is vacant, except for the few who don't want to try out, and don't want to watch others try out, which isn't many. And generally, throughout all houses there are people sleeping late, or still upstairs getting ready.

Me and V walk in together, arms interlaced, talking about what we think our classes will be and what other house this year we will be paired with. Last year it was Slytherins, which gave me and Scorpius a chance to get closer, and the two years before that it was Hufflepuff.

Ahead of us, Potter and the his friends along with Lucy, Dom and Roxy, sit at the Gryffindor table, enjoying their hardy breakfasts, laughing, and pushing at each other, spells flying around them. V's face lights up when she sees Dom awake at this hour. But that happiness is shorted lived as she hears the voice behind me, calling my name from the entrance of the great hall, causing everyone to glance up and look me and I begin to wish I was invisible.

"Rose, wait?!"

His voice is lovely; I have always loved the way it sounds. I turn, Scorpius, jogging towards me, green robes flapping around him, eyes wide, hoping that a new day will bring a change of heart for me. I stop in my tracks watching him come nearer, and V tugs on my arm, causing me to look at her. Her eyes plead with me, ask me to not give in to what my heart wants and use my head instead, but at this point it is already impossible.

"You go ahead, and ask Dom why she is up so early,"

She gives me a stern look, like a mother scolding her daughter, and her eyes ask me what the hell I'm doing,

I am now the one pleading with her,

"I'll be there in a second; he will just be a second,"

She nods her head, relenting,

"Fine, but be quick, kay?"

I nod and turn to face Scorpius, is face is earnest, his eyes wide, he is ready to initiate our conversation,

"I'm not good at apologizing, or writing letters, or sticking to my word,"

I raise my eyebrows, and reply, "No, you aren't…"

He nods, head bowed in sorrow, "But I love you, and this summer was hectic, and I wasn't there,"

I look down as well, my eyes filling with water, "No you weren't….."

He nods again, and looks up at me, sincere, honest, and I look back, ready to forgive, but not quite ready to forget,

"I lied about what I spent my summer doing,"

At this I smile, but it isn't because I am happy, it's because he had the guts to tell me, Scorpius is a good person like that, when he is ready he'll tell me, and he never lies for long,

"Yes, you did…"

He nods for a third time, as I wait, expecting the truth,

"My mom got sick, something is wrong with her V, and my dad said I can't tell you, because you would tell the press,"

Horror paints my face, and the 4 long steps between us disappear as I run forward and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his chest, my hands in his hair.

He holds me back, arms full of vigour, and I can feel the wet tears on my forehead, as he cries, each tear a symbol of his fear, the fear for his mom, for her life, and I pull him closer,

"Oh Scorp, I'm so sorry, I didn't, I didn't know, why didn't you tell me?

He shakes his head, and in this moment, the world is forgotten, everything is forgotten and the summer, absent of him is forgotten with it.

He doesn't need to answer, and my respect for him surges and comes forward, he wouldn't leave me on that curb without a purpose, without a reason. And I love him, I love the way I feel so much safer in his arms, I love the way I can hear his heart beat. He's my friend, and I wasn't there, just as much as he wasn't there for me.

I should have realised something was wrong, that he wasn't okay, I should have gone to his house and refused to leave without seeing him, I should have gone to Malfoy Manner. Stupid, stupid Rose, he didn't abandon me, I left him, I left him.

 _Crap_.

"How is she? Scorp, is she okay?"

All he can do is nod, and we stand there, holding onto each other for dear life, holding onto this moment, and he knows he is forgiven, he knows it is long forgotten.

Moments pass and eventually his voice comes out, small, and cracked, and it breaks the still,

"She's better, but there was a moment there, where I wasn't so sure, oh Rose, I wasn't so sure…"

It cracks and he lets out a sob, barely audible but loud in the still.

He pulls away, arms leaving me, as my hands leave him as well, slipping off of his robes and hanging, limp by my sides.

He wipes his eyes, rimmed with red and regret, as mine must be as well.

"You should go, your friends are staring"

I can feel their eyes on my back, I feel _his_ eyes on my back, and they are knowing, as if they can hear the conversation, as if they are a part of it, but in a moment like this, I wish there was no one, so I could just be there for my friend, so I could just tell him everything will be okay, so I could just make everything okay, make him laugh.

I nod, eyes looking at the wooden ground, the wood is light, beige and gorgeous, I have missed that wood, I have missed this voice,

His voice is quiet, beautiful, calming, "Are we okay?"

It is such an innocent question, his eyes are asking, his voice is hopeful, he wants me to say yes, he thinks I will, and this time he is right,

And I smile, a watery smile but still a smile, lips turning up at the edges

"Yes, we're okay, we're better than okay,"

He smiles back, though it looks like the smile hurts, and I pull him into another embrace, eyes closing as I hold him. I hold him close, taking in his familiar sent.

When I pull away I look him over, inspecting, my eyes dancing,

"I think I messed up your hair,"

He laughs, the sound seems to heal my heart, "I think you messed up my life Rose BlackThorne,"

It is my turn to laugh, "Is that so Malfoy?"

He nods and gives me a push, towards my friends, towards Potter.

He turns and begins to walk away, and I call after him, "Maybe we can spend lunch together, in the library , in our special corner?"

He smiles, for real this time, wide and happy, and the brokenness is gone and his smile is solid, healed,

"Of course..."

And I let out my fear, the fear that yesterday he would have walked away and never looked back, but he did, not only did he look back, he came back, he told me the truth.

~James' POV~

I hear her voice behind me, she is saying something to Veronica, and her voice reminds me of music, of a violin or a piano. It sounds like singing; it surprises me that I recognise that voice, when I have only started paying attention to it just yesterday. And then another voice, a voice I recognise as Malfoys cuts through the air, crying out her name, it is loud in the hall, he is asking for her to wait, and I know she will, I know because she waits for the people she cares about, though I have no clue what she sees in him. And I turn with the rest of the group, Sheila lifts her head from my shoulder to look as well.

Fred chuckles from the other side of the table, his voice loud in the silence,

"Is Malfoy running after a _girl_ , who knew he played for that team,"

Laughter resounds, as the group finds his joke funny, but I am not amused, forcing my lips to smile.

His white hair falls into his face as he runs to greet her, his eyes lighting up when he sees her. And I shift my gaze from him to her. She looks well rested wearing her uniform with her blue checker back pack slung over one shoulder as she watches him. Her hair is high on her head, in a messy ponytail, brushed well, and unlike most of the girls in Hogwarts, including the one that just lifted her head from my shoulder, she does not wear make-up, because she simply isn't here to impress, to make people watch her. I admire how oblivious she is to her beauty, how can someone look in the mirror and not think, not hope that everyone will notice you, will see you?

V is tugging at her, shaking her head, they talk, Rose looking away from the approaching figure for seconds before she looks back, and then V comes our way shaking her head and grumbling under her breath, when she reaches our table she sits in the empty seat to my left, bag hitting the floor with a slam. She grabs the empty plate in front of her and starts filling it up with fruit and bacon. Her blue robes sticks out amongst the sea of red. And eyes all over the hall look our way, watching her break the rules as she sits at the wrong table, but no one dares speak up, one of the pros of being a Potter is that you can break the rules, because your parents created them.

"Someone looks grumpy" Roxy says, eyeing V with an interested look,

"Someone is pissed at their best friend for making bad life choices,"

V's response is curt and upset, I wonder if she is jealous, jealous of Scorpius, or, if she is simply upset for some other reason.

Lucy's sing-song voice speaks up, "I don't think talking to Scorpius after spending the summer with him at his family's beach house is bad V, I mean that's kind of harsh,"

Dom cuts in, "Well she didn't spend the summer with _us_ ,"

My eyebrows scrunch together, family beach house? No, that can't be right, I read somewhere that the Malfoys sold that house they had, for a good price as well, at the beginning of this summer, the small one with the nice porch, what surprises me is that Lucy still thinks Rose went there, wouldn't she have told her differently? Told her friend the truth? Unless of course the Malfoys have more than one family beach house they rent out to muggles for free. Somehow I doubt it.

But still, my imagination takes me to a sandy dune, Rose dressed in a light blue sun dress, running through the turquois waves, head thrown back as she laughs, dancing in the sand, collecting shells and making jewellery out of them. I can see her and him gazing up at the stars, counting the endless diamonds in the sky, sand getting in their clothes, in their hair, and then Scorpius disappears, and I'm there, hands wrapped around her tiny form, head wresting on the top of her head, telling her about the constellations, challenging each other to see who knows more of them.

V's answer cuts through my thoughts, "She didn't spend the summer in any beach house, Scorpius didn't pick her up and he didn't write once to tell her why,"

She is angry, and now I understand why. She is mad at Rose for forgiving him, for giving him another chance. I am not surprised that Rose is forgiving him for all he has done, she cares too much to not forgive, she is a good person like that. But I am surprised, that Rose told Veronica about Scorpius not picking her up this summer, but judging from Dom and Roxy's faces of shock a long with Lucy's earlier retort, she didn't tell anyone else. Her friends, she must not trust them.

And V's eyes holds regret as she realises she has said too much,

"WHAT!" Dom shrieks and goes to stand up, probably planning on charging at Scorpius and punching him square in the jaw, and I wouldn't have stopped her but she does stop when she sees what is taking place behind us, and I turn again.

Rose's eyes are wide, her breathing quick and then she is running, hair flying out behind her, golden in the light, she throws her arms around him, pulling him close, as he begins to sob, there is grief on his face, and he also looks relieved, Rose holds him close, her eyes dipping, wet with unshed tears, of sorrow, regret. And I wonder if she just found out what Scorpius actually has been doing this summer. I wonder if he told her about his mom.

I remember how I found out; I was going to Malfoy Manner to yell at him, to yell at him for ignoring Albus' letter, it had taken so much courage for Albus to send it, to tell him, to tell Scorpius that he wasn't sure what he was, and that he wanted them to be friends, to try being friends. I was angry after I saw how hurt Albus was, the look in his eyes, like he had been stabbed, he had sent it weeks ago, and he had waited every day, looking out waiting for Scorpius' dappled owl to fly to our front door, and every day there was nothing. I wanted to tell him off, to tell him it isn't fair that you treat Albus like this, that he is a good person, that you don't deserve his heart.

I remember how I charged into that house, not bothering to knock, and I screamed for him, asking him where the hell he was, but instead a doctor came to me, all dressed in white, blood staining his gloves, his face grave, he told me I needed to leave, showing me the door, asking me to lower my voice, and I had thought it must be Scorpius, he must be ill, but that can't be right, Albus cares so much, someone would have told Albus, does Albus know, Albus can't find out, how ill is he? And I thought, Scorpius bloody Malfoy don't be dead, because Albus needs you to respond to that letter, he needs to know you care, he needs to see that you have a heart, my brother needs you to be alive, to not be sick, don't be sick. So I went up those grand stairs, with the green carpet placed in the middle, running, I remember how I slammed open that bedroom door, eyes wild, Albus can't handle if he isn't okay, Scorpius needs to be okay, he needs to be okay for my brother…..

I remember her lying in the bed, Astoria Greengrass Malfoy, her skin was transparent, and black lines etched it, like she had been poisoned. Her eyes were empty, her face hollow, all shadows, and there were doctors everywhere, everywhere in that room, and I remember how I backed out, hands closing the door behind me, and how I apparated on the spot, leaving, leaving the sick behind, and I had thought, no wonder he didn't answer. I remember how later that day when Albus asked me where I went I said to the bar, to get some fire whisky, I lied, because Albus didn't need that, he didn't need any of that. It was Scorpius' decision to tell him, to tell him and to respond, but he didn't, he didn't tell him so I didn't, and eventually Albus stopped waiting at the door, waiting for a letter that will never come.

Rose pulls away, smiling up at him, and I wish she would smile up at me like that, but I look away, from the seen, from her. My eyes focus back on my breakfast, the eggs and toast, and Sheila and I begin talking about our schedules, comparing them, I can't help but be a little happy that we aren't in every class together.

V, Dom and the rest of them run to hug Rose and bombard her with questions; they leave the hall, voices remaining as echoes through the room.

"Mr. Potter?"

I glance up, the headmistress stands before me, eyes inquisitive, Professor McGonagall, tall and proud, but ancient, her skin wrinkled, but still towering, even though I am now an inch taller than her.

"Yes?"

She gives me a courteous nod, and responds,

"A moment of your time?"

I leave the table, swinging my bag over my broad shoulder and running a hand through my messy hair, I call back to my friends who watch me leave, "See y'all in first," They are looking at me with wonder, because some at that table know where I am going, and what I am doing, and they know how difficult it is, how wondrous it is, I just think it is ironic.

And so I follow her out of that hall and down the winding corridors to an abandoned classroom. I perch myself on the teachers table, taking a relaxed stance.

She gives me a long look, "How was your summer Mr. Potter?"

I shake my head, "Cut the crap Professor, what is it?"

She nods, she knows I am quick tempered, and she doesn't want me to snap, she also appreciates my urgency, "There has been another break out, I think they're on the move,"

My eyes narrow, into slits, "I can't, not today, I'm busy,"

She gives me another long look, "You have school, learning material you already know, sitting at a desk, boredom, not helping, not changing,"

I look down and shake my head again, "A normal day is no crime,"

She nods, but this time it is more of a necessity than in agreement, "But these people are criminals, they will do crimes, crimes you can prevent,"

My jaw ticks, and she sees it and a flicker of fear flashes across her face, gone in an instant, as if it was never there,

"So can you, and I already spent the summer cleaning up your messes, I told you I needed a break, over this term, I told you I wanted a break,"

My voice is harsh, but desperate, I want her to understand, I want her to get it, I want her to know that my life is not the life I should be living, that I am too young, that it isn't fair,

She nods, slower, quieter, "I understand why you are upset, but your division is one of the strongest, especially with you,"

"My answer is no, my division and I stay put, go ask someone else,"

In this room we are equals, she is not my Headmistress or a family friend, she is an elite, like I am, we are colleges, workers next to each other, she is my senior in years but not in profession. And she knows not to push my buttons, and not to test my limits, she knows that I was trained, and that snapping, getting angry is a mistake that she won't make.

She walks to the entrance of that abandoned classroom and looks back,

"Thank you for your time Mr. Potter"

I nod out of formality. And she's gone.

The day is long, long because I am not used to the many classes, piling up homework, chatter, and endless socializing. In Transfiguration Professor McGonagall shoots me a look, but she doesn't say anything else. There is a silence, and I don't smile again today, my friends laugh, their jokes aren't funny, but I try to respond appropriately, they don't ask, they don't ask why I didn't go. They know they don't understand and they don't want to try, they fear what they will find if they do.

Responsibility is like a boulder on your chest, it weighs you down, and I remember something my father said to me when I was young, he had a look of kindness in his eyes, I was sitting on his knee, playing with his glasses, he looked down at me and said, "You can't save everyone James, you can try, but you can't…"

Gryffindor got paired with Ravenclaw, which meant that we shared all of our classes with them, Herbology, Defence, Divination, Astronomy, History, Runes, class, after class, with the blue ties, and those sea green eyes. I don't mind, I was happy about that, happy that I got to be with V, finally share our classes.

It is the last class of the day, Divination in the north tower, up that rickety later, and into the perfumed room. Sheila's arm is hooked through mine and she smiles at something I said, or maybe it was something I did. But Sheila's friends come and grab her arm, leading her away from me, as she blows me kisses over her shoulder. They all look at me with hungry eyes, talking about how lucky she must be, but she also has noticed how distant I was today, most likely she will ask me what is going on this evening, by then I can makes up a response.

I sit at an empty table, near to the back, my friends sit in front of me, and we all sit bored, and exhausted but ready to laugh our way through this class like we did to the other 7 today, and so I watch the seconds tic by till class starts. Dom, Roxy, Lucy and V enter the classroom, laughing together, but a certain flower does not accompany them. They go and take 4 seats. And Trelawney enters the room, old and frail, eyes huge behind her tiny spectacles, hair many different colures sticking in all directions, back hunched and a cane of silver tapping the ground.

I zone out, not listening to the constant ramble, then a soft voice speaks up, "Is this seat taken?"

I recognise it as Rose's and tilt my head back, grinning,

"I didn't know you are one to be late to a class, I thought you cared about punctuality,"

A groan, "Potter, crap, don't worry I'll find somewhere else to sit,"

I give a soft chuckle, "And where would that be, exactly, this is last seat,"

Another groan and she sits, plopping herself into the seat next to me, her hair forming a barrier between the two of us. As she pulls out her books and her crystal globe, she snuck into the back of the classroom, and no one told Trelawney that she was absent so she won't get a bad mark or points deducted, either way she wouldn't, after all she is her favourite student.

"Mind telling me why you're late?"

She shakes her head, putting her hair behind her ear in a fluid motion,

"Nope,"

She pops the 'p' and pretends to focus on the work in front of her, her eyes skimming the pages of the textbook she has probably already read a thousand times.

"I see you and Malfoy are back in love,"

She grinds her teeth together, but her eyes stay focused on the book,

"You know Potter; you couldn't be ruder if you wanted to be,"

I smirk, and even though she may not be affected by my charm she is affected by that, her cheeks warm up, and a pretty blush stains them with pink.

"Oh yes I could,"

She arches her eyebrows, "Not possible, you are already so rude, it simply isn't possible to be ruder,"

The smirk stays planted, and I tilt my head, observing her and then lean in, my face brushing against her soft hair, and I hear her groan in disgust,

"Then you obviously don't know me,"

Her head snaps in my direction, eyes narrowed,

"And I don't want to,"

There is determination in her voice, I love the way she gets so worked up over something I say,

"Really? Because your dreams say differently,"

Her mouth drops open, jaw hitting the floor, but composes herself,

"What dreams?"

My smirk gets wider,

"V mentioned you whispered my name in your sleep,"

She pretends to think, her mind trying to find a good explanation,

"Oh yes, I was dreaming that I was killing you, slowly, and painfully,"

I chuckle,

She continues, "It's a pity I didn't get to,"

"No?"

She shakes her head, "No, I woke up before you died,"''

I smile, "At least I'm having some effect on that twisted mind of yours,"

She looks horrified, eyes wide, and laughs as if I said something hilarious,

"Nope, none whatsoever,"

Popping the 'p' yet again, that must be something she does,

I grin, "Is that so?"

She nods her head, smirking back at me, and I see in those eyes a glint of happiness as if she is enjoying our friendly banter.

"That is so."

Professor Trelawney finally speaks up, her voice is cracked and tired, but still mysterious and quiet, "This year we will have a project all year long, which will be monitored throughout each month." She pauses, while people start raising their hands calling names of who they would like to be partnered with, and if it will be individual work.

She raises her hand to stop the oncoming questions and continues,

"You will have to work in pairs of two, and you will have to do charts of the constellations, and what each new pattern means. You will also have to become in touch with the emotions of your partner, because you final exam will be examining their futures, this will happen at the end of the year. It is also necessary that you do weekly tea leave readings, and diary entries on what you think they may mean, as well as crystal globe viewings. And finally you must meditate twice a week with your partner in a secluded place, preferably under the stars, and make charts about your mental capacity during these sessions,"

A small smile comes onto my face, I may be a Gryffindor, but I like learning, finding something new, finding something I don't know. And this is what my normal day was supposed to be, full off the teachers' long ramblings and the students' groans, I like the work, because it is the most ordinary thing I do in my day.

Her last sentence causes a grin to split my face in two,

"Your partner will be the person you are sitting next to,"

So the year will bring, god knows what, but it will bring me and Rose BlackThorne closer, and that is why I grin, because I want her to get to know me, I want to get to know her.

And the day comes to a close, the long classes, always full of constant surprises. And a year to come, 364 more days, of paradise, and I wonder, what will it be, what paradise am I envisioning? The normality of it I crave, I enjoy the way it was so simple, less complex. I didn't leave, and I wonder what the headlines for the newspapers tomorrow will bring, will it say that people died in my absence, will its say they saved themselves.

But tomorrow is hour's away, hours to no think about what it will bring, and I value those hours, the long days ahead. I haven't smiled all day, but I started to when Rose sat down in the chair next to me. When she knew my name, when she narrowed her eyes at me, when she smiled, when she was determined, and some part of me, wants to argue with her all year long, and that part of me thinks we just might.

The sun sets, dinner went fast, homework was easy, and I look at the light streaming through the window,

And from the common room down below, I hear her voice waft up, up the stairs, haunting me, even when she is far below, she is saying something to Dom, and it makes my heart thud,

"Nothing's the end of the world; it's just the beginning of a new one,"

And I smile, in memory of long first days, a reminder of what it is like, ending a chapter and beginning a new one, ending a world and creating a new one. That is what I have been doing, me, Dumbledore's Army, we have been creating a new one. And in this one, I will stop everyone from trying to end it.


	6. Quidditch Try-Outs and Long Days

~Rose's POV~

1\. Quidditch try-outs and long days

The days fly by, the minutes are no longer long like they once were in the summer, where nothing began, and nothing ended, and nothing had a middle. There was no story to be told, but a lonely girl facing hell all by herself. There must be worse places, there must be worse situations, I would tell myself, to make me feel better, to humble the roaring anger in me. But sometimes, there were days when the cuts wouldn't stop bleeding, and the bruises wouldn't fade, and the world wouldn't stop, and I felt so alone, like there was no light at the end of the tunnel, there was no way or escape out of this horror.

And I would feel like it was the end of the world, but like I told Dom, when she was telling me about how Asher Longbottom thinks of her as the kid cousin of James, and how he will never love her, or respect her for who she is and not what she is to Potter, I told her, "Nothing's the end of the world; it's just the beginning of a new one,". I told her that, but I didn't tell her I was lying, sometimes everything is the end of the world, and you can't see a beginning, because like I said there is no end, no anything.

The world is limitless when you say that nothing can hurt you, it makes you untouchable and the lie is worth every truth, because it can become easier to handle when you know that it won't end, that it isn't bad, not yet. But there is a time when the lying becomes ridiculous, and you can't even look at yourself in the mirror, and the end is near and you have a choice, face it head on or ignore, and ignore and ignore.

Though the days may fly, next to them, whipping by them is the Quidditch teams, practicing and choosing their fellow flyers, their teams. Eyes alive as they too try to value each second, each minute which isn't long, which runs with the wind, rushing in that air.

I have never been a flyer, yes I did the classes that were mandatory in 1st and second, but after that, there was no one telling me to show up, or to go, and though everyone around me found the sport important, hot, the exciting thing, a way to get the day off when there is a match, I instead would watch from one of the top towers, hair falling into my face, being thrown about in the wind, just like the snitch is, the quaffles, the bludgers.

The game is fascinating, the players devoted, the rules just, the whistle an alarm that controls, constricts and destroys, but yet, it is too easy to understand, what fascinates me is not the structure, not the scoring, but the players, the way they look at it like a chess board, and they change and construct plans, and strategies. The way they use their minds, and connect it with their brute force. The way they use their emotions, their adrenaline to rule the game, to kill the game. The flyers have more force than any ball, more strength than any bat, and more devotion than any whistle.

It has been 4 days at Hogwarts. 4 short days, that flew by in the wind like James Potter does, hands in the air, feeling the wind rush past his fingertips, though his hair, away, away the wind does go and oh does he go with it. All 4 days were occupied by Quidditch try-outs, Hufflepuff was the first, which I didn't bother see, mixed up with the first day back, falling back into classes, friendly banter and the schedule that owns my heart. My argument and resolution with Scorpius set us also, on a familiar schedule, and he shares my own disinterest with the sport, and is also fascinated by a certain player, another Potter, the one that is in Slytherin.

The second day, when everything was more normal, but a certain James Potter had disappeared from the breakfast table, from my divination class, from lunch, the rest of the school day, mysteriously disappearing as if he was never there, and only to arrive, without a finger lifted by any staff to reprimand him for his long absence, for dinner, though this was unnoticed to me until Veronica pointed out that she wouldn't have her potions partner, and I said, "Who did you choose?" And she said, "You know who."

On this second day Ravenclaw had their try-outs, which I missed, not because supporting my house is beneath me, or the sport is not 'hard to understand', simply because I had my first, in all three years at Hogwarts, triple with Slughorn in Advanced Potions course 3. I had been awaiting a class like this since the first time I heard of its existence, few fourth years have the backbone to take it, so it is a mixed class of both 4th and 5th, the 5th years that are behind on their work, and the 4th years who are advanced and ahead at their studies.

On the third day- which was stormy, thunder roaring through the walls, and making me tremble with cold in my worn down robes. Was Slytherins turn to take control of the pitch, and practice and choose their respective leaders, Albus Potter getting the position of seeker, like his brother, but still growing in to his talent, he doesn't do as well under the spot light, he was born for the stage but he never learned how to act.

Quidditch , it reminds me of horse raising, each perspective candidate, running their best, nostrils flared, skin soaked with sweat and mud, eyes wide, the whites becoming prominent, as they shot like bullets through the air their rains being the whistle, the limit. And there is only one player that dares pass that limit, that has no rains, no stopping, no whistle, no rules,

And he is faster than any bullet, better than any thoroughbred, and he makes the sport something you can admire, a dance with the wind, a dare with freedom, a kiss with death, a heart of courage, testing the limits and then crashing through them, head strong slamming the brakes only when we are all screaming for him to stop, up there, lost in the clouds, with hands intertwined with heaven he gets to taste it, he gets to taste freedom, and he must like it, he must like the way it tastes because he never stops flying, he never stops.

James Sirius Potter, crashes through my own thoughts of his reckless behaviour,

"Alright, everyone listen up,"

The loud crowds, assembled for the fourth day, today, the day I plan on taking slow, so I can remember each detail of my friends victories in my memory. The fourth day is the fourth house's turn to choose, and it is Gryffindors try-outs that commence. They all go silent to listen to their captain, to their king. His grin is ordinary, and yet everyone is mirroring it, everyone grins back, wanting it, seeing it, living it. They admire the shiny badges that decorate his chest, both prefect, and head captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team stands out in the crowd, though he is not one with the crowd, the crowd is one with him.

"All Gryffindor students that want to try out for my team go get changed in the changing rooms and meet back in ten,"

At the sound of his booming voice there are shouts and screams, the crowd comes alive with his words, and he feeds them his excitement, his pride, his bravery to not flinch at an opportunity. When the words 'my team' leave his lips, it is as if they caught a flame and the whoops grow in strength, only to grow more quiet when his voice rings out again, and again.

"All members of the Gryffindor team last year, change, and try out first."

The large sea of red turns and goes towards the change rooms, whispering in excitement, and I watch them, eyebrows raised in speculation, within the sea I can see Lucy and Roxy convincing Dom to try-out, but she shakes her head shoving them away.

James has already changed into his Quidditch garb, it fits his well-built form and follows every inch of skin, covering it in a scarlet red, I wonder if her knows I am watching him, I wonder if his heart is pounding out of his chest in excitement, I wonder if the sky is calling him, and he wants to go, to soar into its blue, and get painted in its masterpiece, I wonder…

The field is grassy, wet with mud from the rain last night. The sun has not yet rose, and I am chilled with the cold air that is carried on the swift breeze. The wooden stands are hard beneath my feet, they are also cold. I sit as far back as I can, in a far corner, my blue scarf hidden behind me, my hair flapping in the wind. The stands are tall, rising from the ground like pillars, a stadium fit for royalty, fit for the Potters. Hogwarts has renovated its Arena many times over the many years, as the sport rose higher and higher in popularity, and competition became more difficult.

Last year it was here, in this very pitch that they held the Quidditch World Cup, it feels like years ago, but still, I remember, getting on that train in the summer and heading up here for the day, it was just me and V back then, and we watched the Quidditch match, licking our sugar quills and drooling over the players, were Ravenclaws, so we did not admire their muscle but their high quality technique.

Out of the changing rooms bursts the golden players, proud of their house and their captain. Hope is in their wide eyes, and so is respect, respect for it all, for everything. They are running and leaping, hands thrown up in the air, and even though there is no sun to warm them, they act as if they are the sun and they warm the air with their laughter.

The field seems to come alive as the players take to the sky, brooms tucked between their legs, eyes straining to see through the morning gloom. They rise from the ground, much like how the stands do, rising past me, until they soar high above, becoming ants in that sky, and they stop when they reach just above the golden, shiny loops, that are sturdy against the wind, and seem to scrape the clouds themselves, though the gold is dull in the morning dark.

They hover there, the world below them, all of the crowds eyes upturned, heads watching them above, I can't help but watch those skies and admire them, the way they try to prefect the game. Their hearts are peaking out of their eyes, and I can't see their eyes but I can feel them, their gaze is electric.

He kicks off, his broom is the best quality in the entire stadium, and he is in the sky in seconds. Lucy and Roxy are up there with him, and they play the game. The balls flying, the emotions running, the sun rising, its golden light matching their uniforms and his eyes. And they are one with each other in the sky, miles above the tiny people beneath them, for they look like ants up there, but they are still rising, and their friends remain on the ground, faces upturned, each time they score, each time the points come in they grow in size and they become giants in the sky, ruling from on high.

The try-outs continue, Roxanne and Lucy don't miss once, and they score every time, but Potter, he plays like the devil himself, as captain he must act as the apposing team, one person against the rest, and so does he pummel, he scores shots, hits bludgers, catches quaffles, and with a final dash grabs the golden snitch, plucking it out of the air effortlessly. Winning the game, but they did put up a good fight, and the try-outs go onwards, as they land and the next batch head into the heavens to try to beat their record, some exceptional, others disastrous.

The day is long, and the hours do not fly by like the young students above me, no, they take their time, Lucy and Roxanne's smiles large, and so the team is assembled. And I wonder, as both Roxy and Lucy made it, was it biased? James Potter is captain, and all of his friends, who yes, have some amount of talent, were chosen, including both Rox and Luc, both placed in permanent positions, both being his cousins. One could almost say that another name for the Gryffindor Quidditch team would be 'James Potter and His Friends'. It reminded me of his father, Harry Potter who when he was first made Quidditch Captain of this same house's team he as well chose his close friends, and later on in life relatives, people he considered family. Choosing Ron, Ginny, Fred and George, Weasleys, his friends, the lucky few on the inner circle who got to taste heaven.

There were many in the air that had talent, raw, and incredible, but talent that James Potter chose to overlook or ignore, yes, of course I was proud of my friends, and in his position I cannot imagine myself for having the heart to turn them down, but wasn't it a known fact that James Potter didn't have a heart?

It must almost be lunch time, the sun hangs in the sky, rising as the try-outs continued, and slowly climbing the sky so that now the gold uniforms of the Gryffindor team shine brightly in its light. I can tell it is almost noon by the suns steady rise, slowly going till it is directly above us, looking down, on the last few players whose feet hit the ground, laughter ringing in the air, hair tussled from the wind and their cheeks flushed from the cold. Lucy and Roxy are pulled into Dom's waiting arms, her eyes are alive, dancing with happiness, she is proud, I'm proud.

Potter is absent from the festivity, I can only imagine he is still lost in that sky, and a part of me would like to one day, also be lost in that sky.

"You watched the try-outs; I didn't know you were interested in Quidditch,"

His voice is from behind me, and he lands, gracefully in the seat next to me, catching his broom in his hand, muscles going taught as he restricts it from flying on without him.

I shake my head, eyes not meeting his, "I'm not, I'm interested in my friends making your team,"

His head tilts back, lips turned towards the heavens above, "And they all did, aren't you happy?"

He isn't asking, the question is a statement, he knows I must be happy; I must be proud, glad.

The floor is fascinating, but I have been staring at it so intently I feel as if I have memorised each detail, the floor is simple, but James Potter is not. And if I stared at him, he would make some comment that would cause the strange blush to crawl onto my cheeks and that would provoke more comments.

"I _am_ happy, it's just cold, that's all,"

He nods, his breath making clouds of frost in the air,

There is awkwardness in this moment, as if neither of us knows what to say, how to act, and he seems almost nervous. He lifts one of his hands and runs it through his hair, but I do not see it, I hear it, the sound of his fingers, the soft swish of each lock.

And then a warm jacket engulfs me, his hands pulling it onto my slim shoulders, covering me from the cold, and keeping warm, its colours are red and gold, the jacket is large on my form and dips to the beginning of my thighs, just past my waist, and on it, in jet black cursive lettering is his name, "James Potter" and "Seeker" is written beneath it.

"There you go, better?"

The single act of kindness surprises me, I didn't expect him to be kind, I had illegally watched his try-outs, technically only people from the respective house should be present, but he didn't lift a finger, he didn't ask me to leave, and I thought, he has already been kind enough, why lend me his jacket, why let himself get cold instead of me? After all he is the one flying in that cold, soaring in that cold, becoming one with that cold.

"Yes, thank you, but really its fine,"

My hands go to take it off, but he stops them, grabbing my hand in his, his fingers are soft, and they are also kinder then I expected, that was the first time James Potter touched me, and the electricity of it, that seemed to bring me alive and calm me down at the same time, it fascinated me, more than the floor ever could. More than anything could. I can feel the calluses, the strength, the brute force, and the bravery all through hat simple touch of skin.

His finger brushes over my skin, they are surprisingly warm, probably because of the thick gloves that he was wearing earlier, but still, the contrast between the cold of my skin and the warmth of his sends a shiver down my back.

"Keep it, I can do a heating charm, plus, my personality suits the cold,"

I laugh a soft sound, muffled by the wind, and so quiet I wonder if he heard. A part of me hopes he didn't.

John calls at him from across the field, waving him over, and James turns to go, rising from his seat and relaxed posture, and stands to his full height, towering above me. His hand slips out of mine, easily, but I want it back, no, I want him gone, that's what I meant to think.

Then he looks back and my eyes leave the floor and watch him watch me.

He smirks, the smirk I have grown to dislike so very much, but in this moment I find it endearing,

"You look nice in it; maybe I should have one made for you, that would be quite an honour,"

I shake my head, "I wouldn't feel honoured, I'd feel objectified,"

His smirk widens, "Well aren't you one of a kind, Rose BlackThorne, any other girl would love to wear my jacket,"

"Right, lucky me, is that what they would say?"

He nods, "Something like that,"

I raise an eyebrow, "Well aren't you the lucky one, you get to meet such incredible, _one of a kind_ individuals, on a daily bases, Potter,"

I play his words back at him, and he recognises my sarcastic tone, but takes it as serious. Something changes in his eyes, and his smirk disappears, a serene, honest look flashes across his face, "Very lucky, I'm very lucky…"

I tare my eyes from his. Afraid of that sincerity, of that honesty.

"You were absent on Tuesday,"

His smirk widens, coming back to life on his face in an instant. I continue the conversation, desperate for him to not leave, just one more moment away from the world, and plus, I'm interested, I'm curious.

"Well aren't you observant,"

I ignore his chiding comment, but defend myself anyways, he can't think he gets to me, he can't.

"I am only concerned about our Divination project, we haven't been able to get started yet, that's all,"

He grins, the smirk forming into another classic facial expression, but this one isn't ordinary it's extraordinary,

"Well if you are so concerned just remember, you're working with someone brilliant, I can save the world, and do tiny projects that don't matter,"

I shake my head, eyes going back to his, his eyes they are dancing like Dom's are, that must run in the family, except his are more intense, more dangerous, more flammable,

"I wasn't aware the world needed saving,"

His grin falters, and his eyebrows draw together as he swallows hard, atoms apple bobbing,

My eyebrows raise,

"Does it James? Is that what you were doing on Tuesday, saving the world?"

He shakes his head, his eyes don't dance, they look cold, guarding, scared, no, I must have seen wrong James Potter is never scared, it wasn't that emotion, it was a secret, I saw a glimpse of a secret that scared me.

He goes to leave again, and I feel as if I must have said something wrong, something he doesn't want me to know, and for a moment my question doesn't feel like a joke, it feels ironic because it's true. But I must be wrong, I must be.

And he only stops 4 paces away, not turning this time,

"Something like that…"

And I am left all alone in an empty stadium, so large I feel insignificant. I wish I could fly, fly like they all did, but the sky, the freedom, the reckless, the daring brave, I am afraid of it, so I sit, and I watch the sun continue to dip, and the clouds in the sky make shapes, turning into birds, dinosaurs, trees, it fascinates me.

What had he meant, Potter, maybe I am wrong, and in a moment like this I feel like I am, maybe he isn't all bad, maybe I just don't know what he is, but I blink and that is gone, and I cannot remember why, or what I was thinking. My mind banishing the thought.

I didn't go to lunch, instead I sat on that bench for the entire hour, and I then went to my classes, feet pounding on the floors as I went. They were not abnormal but my heart wasn't in them, and after them I went to find Lucy and Roxanne to congratulate, to say well done, but when I did find them, I did not go up to them, they were in the middle of a party, fire whisky being passed around the Gryffindor common room, and they were laughing, dancing, and my blue tie, robe, shoes, eyes, stuck out in that gold, that scarlet, that burgundy, so I left, out the door, pass the fat lady, and down the stairs, through the passage ways, back and back again, running from the world, and I went up and up.

The breeze is soft, running past my finger-tips; I am in the changing rooms for Ravenclaw Quidditch. The girls side is empty, in fact it is all empty, no one is there, no one is watching, and without changing from my uniform I grab one of the brooms from the closet.

I go down, the twilight shining around me, mud hardened from the long day of try outs, and I kick off, my leg slipping over the handle, my hips slipping into the seat, my hair flapping in the breeze, silver in the light, and the sky is above me, beckoning, and I kick off, and I go.

I am not the best flyer, not the best at playing the game, and I dare not go so high, or so fast, I do not have the courage to let go of the broom and let my fingertips touch the stars, my figure is hunched, I do not have the bravery to straighten, my eyes are squeezed shut, I cannot handle them being open, and I take off, hands grasping the broom, steadying it as I stop, above the world, and my hands, trusting me for once, go to my sleeves and they roll up the long, thick white cotton, and my eyes open. The broom is shaking beneath me, James Potter always says that the brooms are alive, animals, and you need to treat them with respect, you need to or they will hate you, and maybe it is, sensing my fear, of the heights, of falling, of not going into that sea of gold and congratulating my friends, instead being a coward, being intimidated, running.

And for once, in all these months I look at them. The scars that line my skin. And the tears come, hot heavy, like weights pulling me down, but I am far too high up to ever touch the ground, and the darkness hides my weakness, it hides it all. And I trace my skin, cold from the wind whipping by, they are black, purple, I can see their nail marks, carving into my flesh, carving into my pride, my dignity.

Each one is a story that I don't dare remember, each one is a memory I refuse to acknowledge, they'll go away, some day they will disappear, and they won't haunt me, they won't destroy me. My form is shaking, the tears are silent, the sky is my witness, and whatever God, whatever being watches me sees my fate, and shrinks back in horror, I wonder if they see my future, what is it?

The stars twinkle, precious, untainted, but that is just from here, up there just rocks in the sky, with no gravity, no place to land when the ride is over. And I tilt my head back, eyes scanning that sky, a million questions running through me, and then I scream, loud, clear, letting it out, all of it.

And I land, feet hitting the ground, as I tumble and my head slams into the mud, I am soaked from head to toe, my robes rewind and torn, my tie brown, my hair dishevelled, my eyes filled with the sticky substance.

"Ughhh, crap, crap, crap,"

I mutter under my breath, pulling myself from the mud, dripping with the gooey stuff I head towards my dorm, towards my home, up the stairs and mumbling the password to the painting, and through the common room and up the spiralling stair case to the Ravenclaw girl's dorm room.

But there, just outside the doorway, is a package wrapped in bronze and dark blue paper, and beneath it is a box, silver in colour, shinning expensively. And my name is engraved on it,

"Rose BlackThorne, to a one of a kind individual,"

My eyes narrow, this is James' hand writing, the curve of each letter, the dip of each line.

Why would a package ends up on my door way, the door way of Ravenclaw 4th years dorm room. It has _my_ name in cursive writing, and I decided to pick it up opening it? I don't know what surprises me more, the existence of the package or me deciding to open it. What if it hadn't been for me? V always said that curiosity killed the cat, and that that was my destiny.

A bow of gold ties the silver, shiny box closed, and I untie it with a flourish, it feels like real silk, as it slips through my fingertips, warm to my touch. I try not to get the mud and grime on such a pretty object, but I am still mystified as to why Potter, as to what Potter could possibly get me.

And inside that box, as I lift the heavy lid that feels of soft satin, it must have cost quite a pretty penny just for the box itself, I see, beneath red tissue paper, a red and gold jacket for the Quidditch team of Gryffindor House. It is one of their customary bomber jackets that they wear around the school like royalty, many people would die to get their hands on a jacket like this, what is it doing at my front door?

It reminds me of the one I wore today, and it smells just like it, it smells like him, and I wonder if the present is his jacket, but how wrong I am, for engraved in black cursive letters, right under the pocket that has a roaring lion insignia is my name and just above it is his, both in the black fount, that seems to shine off of the fabric.

And I remember, my eyes widening into saucers, no, James wouldn't have, but so quickly, I mean we had that conversation just before lunch? And what it's 10 or 11? How? My mind is connecting the dots, working faster than I can keep up; he had it made, today, most probably this afternoon. Just like he said, though at the time I had no idea it was a promise and not a joke,

His voice, like velvet rings through my ears, a reminder just beneath the surface, it is amused, and it echo's from earlier, "Maybe I should have one made for you, that'd be quite an honour,"

I swallow my fear that that is what it is, and I slowly pick it up, the fabric is soft to the touch, running through my fingers, firm but not stiff, and I look it over, eyes wide in disbelief,

A note falls to the floor, and it reads,

"Just for you, feel honored yet?"


	7. Arguments and Guilt on lucky Fridays

~Rose's POV~

Chapter 7: Arguments and guilt on lucky Fridays

I am storming through the corridors, hands running through my hair, jacket left at the top of the stairs abandoned, left behind on my doorstep, left because I fear it, I fear what it means. Why am I running? Feet pounding on the floor, a purpose, an anger, but why am I angry? Am I mad that he got my a gift? Am I mad that he gave me something, out of a kind gesture? Yes. But why? If it was anyone else I would have laughed, found it ironic, and kept it but never worn it, but it's _him._ And suddenly he has the power, the power to ruin my life, that's why I'm angry, because I never gave him it, not willingly, and he creeped in to my head, my life, and stole it.

But I want to stop myself from playing into his hand, from going, but my feet won't stop, as my mind does cartwheels. So I am walking, I am running, the robes heavy from the mud, the mess this evening has already created. Why won't it end? And I stop, my breath short, my eyes wild, my mind whispering to me, so I listen, just for a moment. It can end, go back upstairs, pick up the box and throw it in the flames, and let it burn, burn, burn. The night will come to a close, and ignore that it ever happened, pretend, act, but I am not the actor, I wasn't born for their artificial stage, I was born for the eyes and ears, to see through the acts, so how am I better, how can I judge them if I stoop to their level?

So I run, hands tracing the walls as I go left, right, left, left. My feet are loud in my ears, but soft in the silence, the rain pours down, thunder pounding through the walls, throwing my thoughts into chaos, and I become one with that storm, my heart is loud, can you hear it? It is racing with my pulse, my feet, my legs, my breathe.

I burst into the Gryffindor common room yelling at the fat lady that I have to kill a certain James Sirius Potter; she simply smiles and opens for me, without even the password. Though if I had taken another moment, and wasn't moving so fast, I would have given it to her, but she knows I know it, I visited earlier this evening, when I saw them partying. I visit regularly, how was I to know that this was the first time of many times I would burst into that common room with a need to confront a certain raven haired boy.

I am in; I storm through the room, nose in the air, not even sure what I am going to say, the Gryffindor common room is all reds and golds, but I ignore them all, and the eyebrows raised in amazement at my blue tie, at my dishevelled form, the mud caked to my skin, in my hair, my clothes. It is obvious where I have been but the eyes are still sceptical, even more so when I take the first couple stairs up to a certain dormitory.

And up I go to the stairs leading to the boys dormitory, I walk upwards, past the 1st years, the second, the third and stop at the 4th, taking a moment to breath in and out, eyes wide as I watch the oak wood, the large, cold nob in my reach, just one step closer, and I will lose it all, but do I dare? What is my dignity worth? And I wonder if he expects, and in a moment like this, I am making a decision between my mind, my brains and my emotions, done, the nob is in my hand, turning, decisions made, in the making.

I burst in, and I get a few surprised yelps, people shouting swears and wide eyes, people scramble to put clothes on, to hide their fire whisky, their cigarettes, but my eyes are focused are on only one of those boys, not men, never men.

And I see him, he is without his shirt, pants low on his hips, and he turns as the door slams shut behind me, hitting its frame loudly, with a crack. The crack sounds like a muggle bullet, I have heard gun shots before, sometimes they remind me of the rain, down they come, mindless but direct.

Surprise is in his eyes as well, but is replaced with a knowing look, I bet he thinks I just got his jacket, my jacket, and as he looks at me I feel a shiver run over me, through me, but I don't take my eyes off of his form, my gaze is direct. His chest is well toned, muscles rippling as he moves, he looks other worldly, magical, and I want to reach out and touch him, no, I wouldn't dare, but each muscle makes his frame morph into an oddly disturbing perfection, not a flaw, as if he was made of wax, each dip and curve of him that his skin covers, and traces. His abdominal muscles are too many to count, but my gaze is torn from his silky skin and onto his face, rage flashing in my eyes.

Confidence slips over him as he stands, and walks towards me, carefully approaching, paces long, strutting, he sees my anger, the way it sizes him up for battle, and the way he walks is as if he was stalking his prey, but in a moment that changes, from prey to predator, and the two beasts come eye to eye. His eyes follow me from across the room as he comes nearer, his gaze is calculating. He isn't smirking yet, but he is acting as if he is superior to my heavy look of distaste. And the smirk, it will be there, slipping over his face, curving his lips into the well-known, over used facial expression.

"Rose, what do I owe the honour?"

I shake my head, lips taught in upset rage, yes rage, white hot searing through my veins, lightning shooting from my eyes, and I cannot form the words out of my anger, I am lost in it, the emotion swallowing my whole. I have no idea what I am to say, to react, to tell him, the sentences are lost, the words non-existent.

He continues, seeing my choked form, how my mouth gapes open like a fish as I try to form a sentence, his voice is warm and he is laughing at me, laughing at my reaction,

"After all I am honoured you decided to show up unannounced, is this you taking up my offer from the train, something about late nights, just us?"

There is laughter from the boys in the dorm, as they watch the interaction, amused at how he handles the situation, but his comment brings me back to my senses, and the words come flowing like fire, like ice.

"Don't you _dare_ talk to me about honour, Potter,"

My voice is dark, full of malice, and he raises his eyebrows, nodding to the sound, as if he expected me to speak this way, to yell at him, as if he was waiting for it, and that fuels my hatred,

"You know nothing of what being honoured is, or what luck is,"

He smirks, it comes to life on his face, his eyes begin to come to life as well, as if someone lit them with a match, the flames mock me, reflect my small form, the dripping wet state, as I look vanquished, but my face tells a different story,

"You got my note,"

His voice is no longer like velvet, it reminds me of a snake, of a trickster, and I want to destroy it, to show it just how much I don't care, how much he stepped over a line. So I respond, my teeth grinding together as I speak.

"Oh yes I got it, and I am not, _I am not_ , I…. You have no idea of what being _lucky_ is,"

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words are coming like a hurricane so I plough on, stepping over my own line as I yell at the legend, the celebrity, and right now he is just a classmate who pissed me off, nothing more. Just a boy who acted like a child, just,

"No, don't you _dare_ tell me that you know, my entire life I have fought for what I want, for who I am, for where I will get, looking to the future, and when luck comes my way I take, and I run with it as long as I can, because it is rare, and fleeting. And you have never had to work for it, had to pray for it, had to hope and hope because everything you have ever had is on a silver plate, fed to you, all you have to do is open your god damn mouth. And you know what? That privileged outlook, where you play with people's lives is not amusing, Potter, it isn't, no one's laughing…"

He tilts his head back, eyes curious, but he isn't upset, he isn't angry, or if he is I cannot even see a hint of it, not a tick in his jaw, or the pulsing of a vein, his eyes, that gaze stays steady, his smirk stays planted, but it is more for show now, he hears my words, and he does not voice his agreement, of anger to them, but he does watch me, his eyes, the flames are softer, more honest,

"It was more metaphoric, the message, it meant that compared to the rest you have my full attention, it was a joke, you didn't find it funny?"

"My sense of humour has nothing to do with torturing people,"

He ducks his head, shaking it,

"I gave you a present, not a bomb,"

I am shaking; my little will power is breaking,

"I never asked for it,"

He raises his eyes and eyebrows, arching them,

"Most people don't, that's why there called gifts,"

I swallow my upcoming wave of rage, and respond,

"I don't want it, I didn't want it,"

His smirk widens, his eyes are dancing again, mocking me again, and I feel as if he is winning, as if he has always been winning, but what is he winning at? Taking my heart? No, he will never do that, never. He answer me, he always answers me,

"Then give it away, but it has your name on it, etched in black, so they will ask questions I'm not sure even you know the answer of,"

He must see my trembling body, and steps closer, eyes on me, the space between us getting narrower by the minute,

"I thought we previously discussed the present anyways, and we came to a mutual agreement,"

I shake my head, eyes staying on his, ignoring the world around us, focusing on the raven haired boy before me,

"I ignored your idiotic comment, that doesn't count,"

"Well then you need to explain yourself _crystal clear,_ unless you want me to misunderstand,"

My mouth falls open; my anger is beginning to leave, slipping out of me,

"Misunderstand? How much did it cost?"

He tilts his head back, smirking,

"Don't concern yourself, I pay the cash you get the result,"

And there, that line, is where James Potter made the mistake of a life time, because I didn't find his money amusing, his riches worth it, and they didn't make me want to forgive him, they made the anger that was just about to go, come back, and twice over, at that.

"No, I don't get anything but a fool who thinks that makes me special, you think you can buy people, place some cash, throw some money around and get them gifts, and you expect them to be thankful, _grateful,_ to kneel at your feet and sing your praises, I will not kneel, and I don't bow to scoundrels, and you James Potter are the king of them all, aren't you?"

He is the one shaking his head, eyes gleaming,

"If I wanted to buy you I'd get you something you'd like, not something you'd hate,"

And then I realise, he knew I would react like this, he knew I didn't want it, he knew I would be stuck with it, he knew, of course he knew, but I should have known that I was playing with fire, and that when you play with fire you can get burned, so it is better if you keep your distance. And I wonder, somewhere in my head, when did this begin? When did I start confronting Potter's and going flying after hours, the first week of school and the rules I have broken, the guidelines, the standards I keep are beginning crack at the edges…

"I don't hate it, I _despise_ it, and plus, you have _no id_ ea of what I'd like,"

He nods, and steps closer again, there is only a few inches between us and no one in the room can hear what we say, but it must look like we care, because they whistle, they call, laughing at my trembling and James' interest. And I feel like an object, like a prop in his show, I promised myself to not play the actor, but here I am, on his stage.

"Challenge excepted, I'll buy you something I think you wold enjoy, and you will have to burn it, destroy it or never wear it to win,"

His voice is going back to velvet, and I welcome the change, though it must mean I am not as angry as I was previously, I feel more hurt, like I can't win, like I cannot take on the rich, the heroic Potter, and I can't stand the way he makes me smaller, less than what I should be, less than who I am.

"I am not going to play your games, especially not one so twisted,"

I am going to leave, I lost this battle, almost, but I have one more say, so before I go I tell him it,

"You know what James Sirius Potter; I will never give a damn about you or your galleons. Never."

I turn, and walk out of the dormitory, hand on the door knob, back to him, but he stops me with his voice,

"You're covered in mud, were you flying? After legal hours on the pitch?"

He knows I was, that, or I decided to roll around in the mud, most likely the first option, but he wants to hear me say it, he is refusing to let me have the last say, refusing to admit defeat, and refusing to let me walk away,

I bite my cheek, "No, and for your information, nothing I do is your business,"

And yet he still gets in that last word, "At least for right now…"

And I leave, down the stairs, through the room, out the door, down the corridors, through the classrooms, up the stairs, in the door. My back hits the bed, and I don't even bother changing, as sleep takes me into its clutches.

The mornings light brings me out of my resting state, and I am out of bed in seconds, and into the shower, the water is cold on my skin, and I relax into its familiar pattern that it draws on my skin. Friday. The last day of the first week, and we are already praying for the weekend.

I am up first, so I go to make my way downstairs, my uniform on but my robe left to dry and clean from last night's adventures. V is still asleep, as are the rest, all 38 beds in our dorm full, but min is tucked, and neat and empty, the sheets pulled and folded at the edges into perfection. As I go to leave and eat something, get the work for the classes I missed yesterday morning done my eyes recognise something, and I pause just for a moment, and look, eyes observing, thinking, there on the top of my trunk is the jacket, and I can't help but smile slightly. I glance around, no one is looking, no one ever is, and I reach down and slip it up and over my skin, up my arms, and onto my back, it fits me like his did, a couple sizes too big, but it feels warm, and I close my eyes, drinking in the way it smells, I want to memorize the way it smells, the hint of coffee, the sweetness of caramel, but the sharp hint of mint that goes underneath it, and I soak that it, it all in.

But the moment is over in seconds and I take it off, the jacket hitting the floor, and I put it back, dusting off imaginary dirt, as I place it in its previous position. And I leave it behind, not in ashes as I previously planned but instead intact, unrumpled, clean.

The great hall is almost empty, and I walk in, my eyes reading the book clutched to my chest, and someone bumps into me causing my book to fall, I look up,

"Scorp, what's going on?"

His eyes don't meet mine; he is looking past me, at some random point in the wall,

"Scorpius?"

My voice is louder, more desperate, but he doesn't look my way. I reach down and pick up my fallen book, that hit the floor just moments ago,

I watch him for a moment, soaking in the details, analysing to find the source of his grief, Scorp always hides his emotions beneath layers, I used to buy him a notebook and tell him to write something he is feeling on each page, and when he was done, I would go the last page and read it and then we would talk.

But there is something going on in the way he doesn't' want to face me, and a fear, just a little fear runs down my spine. I grab him by the collar and turn him to face me,

"Scorpius Malfoy, what _is it?"_

He blinks, eyes looking everywhere but mine, and then he pulls to leave, but stops, and turns, eyes still not finding me,

He clears his throat, loudly in the still,

"I wanted you to be the first to know, you ought to know,"

I swallow, that fear begins to build,

"The ministry has passed a new law, and it was confirmed by the D.A"

My breath is unsteady,

"What law? Scorpius, _what law?_ "

He is shaking, shoulders shuddering,

"My father had a vote, as did my mum, but I'd like you to know that the Potters agreed with it, Rose, they thought it was a good idea,"

My eyes are wary, my heart pounding,

" _What law?"_

He looks at me and he doesn't need to save it, because I can see, in those eyes the layers have already fallen, and I can see why he wanted to tell me,

"They are putting them through memory loss Rose; they are whipping them clean…"

And the room is spinning, it is as if the world has caught a flame, and arms are around me in seconds, thin, white, cold, not warm, not sun kissed, and they stop me from hitting the floor.

And my previous words ring through my ears, "Nothing is the end of the world, it's just the beginning of a new one,"

But this new world is not as perfect as it looks, and everywhere there are flaws hidden beneath the smiles, the happiness, the train tracks leading to a destination but back in London, a war is about to begin, a war between two worlds, and when they crash and meet neither world will survive, it will form one, one world, one beginning, but for something to begin, something must end.

~James' POV~

The morning light streams in, the sun rising above the storm clouds that are slowly dispersing, if only I knew that the storm was far from over, the light is red and gold, reflecting in my eyes. The dark red drapes, lined in golden embroidery reminded me of the ones a home, which were darker, and longer, larger; my bed the size of 4 of these dormitory's Queen sized ones. I often feel empty in that bed, lonely, so big that I could roll over and over and never reach the other side. My owl taps the window loudly, and then crashes through the glass with its urgency, this awakens me from my thoughts and dreamless sleep, my owl never tries to get to me, it will normally come late, and lazy, downstairs at breakfast, what must be wrong? My face is suddenly attacked as it is repeatedly hit, the beautiful bird pecking at my skin, pecking away, until I grab the daily prophet from its clutches, no letter, no last minute reminders, just the prophet.

"Get the bloody away,"

My voice is hoarse from sleep, and my muscles are sore from Quidditch try-outs yesterday, but other than that I am well intact, though my vision is blurry, but my hands are still able and fumble for the prophet, tearing the string off that holds it together opening it to the blinding front page. My vision may be blurry but I am not blind, and the bold headline I could have seen _even if I_ was blind, and I am out of bed, feet pounding on the ground, grabbing my clothes as I run, and in seconds I am dressed, but not my uniform for Friday but a suite, muggle attire, dark dress robes thrown over it, and I pause, glancing around the room, my mind playing over and over that headline, my heart beating, and burning a wildfire, how? And then I turn on my heels and disappear.

Apparating always reminds me of falling, jumping off of a cliff and plummeting, the feeling in your stomach when it drops to the floor, and then it is over, done. I have a pass, when I entered the D.A I was allowed to get through warded areas, and break through the spells, apparating in and out of Hogwarts is technically illegal, but I have always been able to do it easily, well not always, there was that golden year when I never had to leave the safety of its walls, first year, but second everything had changed, and that bliss of never leaving, became a need to leave, everything not just Hogwarts.

The house is familiar; it's home, empty without little Lily's singing, and Albus' guitar strumming but still home. The Potter's Manner, my mom named it when her and dad turned 22, they had it made, specially, planning in advance for their 3 kids, she named it, "Fred's Palace," after her fallen brother in the war, the twin, with a heart of gold, when I was young she would tell me stories about how he saved the world, and how he would do brilliant pranks, and was so brave and so proud, and stubborn, she said he could make her laugh for days, for hours, and how he always there for her as a brother.

I pause to admire its towering form I have grown to love, it isn't our only manner, we have many all over the country and the world, dad and mum got a lot of money because they saved the world, and they got good jobs out of it. The money is part of the image, the houses are part of the image, but this one, it came from the heart, their hearts, when they were young and in love and thought they had saved the day, it was only in my 2nd year the attacks started, it was only then we began to find out.

I open the door with a bang,

"DAD!"

My voice is loud in this strange stillness, and my heart is in my throat, I don't know what I am going to say, what I will do, god knows I should probably punch him in the bloody face, my temper always goes wild, spinning out of control in seconds, minutes. That is one of the reasons I have always loved flying, no one is up there, just me.

He appears in front of me, out of white smoke, hair tussled, a smile on his face, his eyes have the familiar twinkle that always makes me feel warm inside, but today I feel cold, and he sees it, and that happiness dies in an instant. He runs a hand through his hair, and turns around, his back faces me, he can't face me, he knows that,

"Jamie, you should be at school,"

I ignore his comment, and state why I am here, though I imagine he already knows,

"I saw the prophet,"

He goes still, and then faces me, he has always been brave, I imagine I got it from him, though right now I feel weak,

"I was going to tell you on Tuesday, but you just got back at school, you just got back with your friends,"

I shake my head, anger searing across me, " _My friends_ were here all summer,"

He nods, his voice is quiet, honest, mum always says our voices mirror each other's when we are trying to apologise, she says that Albus got the identical looks but me and dad, we got the kindness, the touch of gold she says, she is the only person I know that calls me kind, then again she knows me better than anyone does. She gets me, what I want, what I need, how much I hate the life I have to live.

His voice blends in with the still,

"I wanted you to be a teenager for once, to see something horrible in the news and be surprised, and be shocked,"

"It wasn't a good surprise, it was barbaric, and you should have told me the D.A was going to vote,"

I laugh, it sounds high pitched, deranged,

"In fact the _darling_ D.A should have sent me a message, but I never received one, and there is only _one person_ that can block those, the Minister of Magic, what? Do you have Kingsley in your pocket now, as well?"

He shakes his head, reaching for me, but I slap away his hands, continuing,

"That vote, if my voice was in the room, would have gone differently, but you didn't want it to go differently, so the headlines are blaring 'Potter', forget the rest, the rest that voted for it, because _you_ stressed it,"

He is shaking his head more vigorously, mouth open to speak,

"No, dad, listen, they are a threat, yeah Voldemort screwed you over, and left you a mess, an army that is rising from those orphanages, but don't play with something you don't understand, they are people, we can fix this without destroying their lives… Who are we to play them like puppets, to pull their strings, to kill their worlds? Who voted _us_ in? No one, that's right, _no one,_ "

He opens his mouth again to speak,

"I'm **NOT DONE!** For once in your life hear me, this isn't a game of chess anymore, this is a game of lives, and you just dragged the whole world's eyes onto us, watching _us_. You think they won't notice? The governments of the muggle world, you think they won't see thousands of their citizens becoming empty, shells, you think their _blind?"_

He swallows, his eyes glisten, and I stop, and we watch each other breathing in and out,

"Do you want to start a war, you are already a hero dad, you don't need to save the world twice, why can't we let someone else do the saving, haven't we done enough?"

He is shaking, and a tear falls, spinning through the air, hitting the floor, falling, he has created an empire, and crowns and jewels, and titles, and I know he cannot bare to let that crumble, it's his armour, his way of hiding, we all have our masks, but mine is off, and I feel bare, vulnerable, as if I'm scolding the child,

"I was supposed to be the chosen one James; I was supposed to save the world, not just my friends, but everyone,"

His voice is so broken, so small…

And I pull him close, my hands grabbing him to my chest, and I lean into him as he leans into me, we are holding each other up in the storm, battling on together,

"Dad, you once told me that we can't save everyone that we can try and _try_ , but everyone is too difficult, so sometimes we need to lose battles to win the war, right?"

He laughs, wet, broken, proud, "I didn't tell you that last bit, you have always had your mother's brains,"

I smile, cracked, but he continues,

"James, I didn't want you to vote so no one in that room could drag you into this mess, you don't deserve it,"

I breath out, a sigh,

"But why even have the vote?"

He pulls away, both hands resting on my shoulders,

"Because the D.A was created to save the world, and it is drastic and horrible, but what other option do you suggest? We _kill_ them, _lock_ them up? Aren't those both even more noticeable? There are people we have disguised on the muggle side, scientists; they have already come up with a possible disease that these people would have been getting, an excuse for the government to notice not us, but that,"

I scoff, head ducking, "That ties everything up in a nice little bow, doesn't it?"

It is his turn to sigh, "You should get back to school, you already missed Tuesday son…"

He is back to being my father, the man I love, the man that carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and knows sacrifice better than anyone. His hair is getting grey with stress; no doubt he'll dye it, but like this in a bath robe, with his hair not slicked back, and no expensive clothing to cover him.

I nod, and turn to leave, but he catches me by the arm before I do,

"James you should know, there was someone else in Hogwarts who voted for the law to be passed,"

I tilt my head back, eyes narrowed, "Who?"

"Scorpius Malfoy…"


	8. Hospital Beds and Nights to Remember

8\. Hospital beds and nights to remember

~Rose's POV~

It's cold, the room, the world, and I want to be a child in a moment where memories are lost, and I am so alone, lost in my mind, lost in my head. The danger of letting your thoughts run wild without control is what you might find hidden within them, hiding behind the surface. I remember the sorting hat, what it was whispered to me, "Knowledge is power, but power can destroy someone who isn't able to handle it, you are brave, you are loyal, but you are brilliant, and that makes you value that power, value yourself."

The hospital wings light shines above me, white, or maybe I am imagining it because I don't think my eyes are open, I think they're closed. They have to be because my eyelids are heavy with regret, with fear, and my mind is turning, screaming, playing games with me, and I am trapped in its cage.

There is a table, long, rectangular, metal, shiny. It must be over 10 feet long, and there are footsteps, loud in a silence that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but I am lying down, head on a pillow as soft as snow, as cold as ice, but I stand, out of me, leaving my body behind, as I travel down the room in my head. They are wearing robes, black, moving slowly, as if drugged, as if death marching for me, they are coming for me, they wear masks, masks that look too real, and they are closer, and closer, and they raise wands, and they want to take the power from me, my mind, they want me to forget, and then it fades to black, to darkness and I return to my sleeping form, another nightmare of the images I have formed in my head.

The darkness is still there when my eyes slowly open, the room is dimmed, the lights are golden, the empty beds line it, and Madame Pomfrey's office light is off, she must have gone to bed, the ceiling is high, beams of light wood crossing over each other, but the walls are a creamy white, like a hospital. It is familiar, the cot small beneath me, the sheets pure cotton, a blue blanket thrown carelessly over my tired form.

The darkness is serene and I hide in it, I am here, my head on that pillow, the sheets pulled up to my waist, wearing a dark blue nightgown, with white lace on the straps and bodice, the lace climbs its way down the long sleeves, the fabric is thin and just beneath it the scars cower. I blink, slowly, my vision is clear, it is the darkness that is misty, mysterious, holding dangers, and secrets even I don't know, don't dare to understand. The darkness is powerful because it knows things I don't.

"I heard you fainted, I wasn't aware you were the fainting type,"

His voice is soft in the darkness, soft, so soft it is as if it doesn't exist. It floats from next to me, but it sounds as if the wind carried it from a thousand miles away, and I recognise the voice, the smell but not the kindness. And I close my eyes, and pretend it doesn't exist, he takes that as an invitation to keep speaking, still soft,

"Dom took the first shift, Roxy the second, Lucy missed our first practice for hers, and Veronica was there in between them all, she was very worried, it was rather amusing,"

My eyes stay closed; I don't dare move a muscle, I am ignoring, but, eventually I do respond, quiet,

"And you? Where were you in all of this?"

My voice is as soft as his, we are whispering because what we are doing is illegal, and what are we doing? Speaking, but not to anyone, we are speaking to each other, and that is the biggest secret of all, and in the darkness that hides us from everyone else, we break the rules, the moon casting a shadow, it's light not reaching us, all alone, and if it was any other day I would be afraid, afraid I was about to die, afraid he would take out his wand and destroy my life, but here, just us, though I hate him, for ruining the world, I also hate the spark he ignites, the way he calms me down, without saying a word, the way….

The chair creaks to my right as he sits forward, I can feel his eyes on me and then he looks away, past me, into the distance, his jokey manner is absent, as if the darkness has captured that as well, and it is just a boy and a girl, and a darkness, and a secret that is between them, in a moment like this we aren't saving the world, we're fourteen, were young, were innocent, and were confused, confused about the emotions that run between us, confused about why everything is going so wrong, everything…

"I was out for most of the day, but I came looking for Lucy, and I found her asleep, she went back to her dorm, and here I am…"

My eyes open, the ceiling is fascinating, but the dark that clings to it makes me want to look away, I don't

"Were you out saving the world? Or were you ruining it James?"

I see him swallow hard, just out of the corner of my eye, and I already know the answer, and anger wrecks the moment, how dare he?

"Get away from me, how could you do something like that? Are you in on it, did you get a voice, are you in the D.A James, where were you Tuesday? Really? Voting in your secret war club? Deciding people's lives?"

He isn't angry when I say that, but he reacts differently, he winces, eyes squeezing shut as if I hit him, his eyes stay closed, and he begins to shake his head, his hands going to his hair, not running through it but tugging at it, and the act, the façade, it breaks and the pieces disappear into the still, into the shadows. He is quiet, for such a long time, I wonder if he fell asleep, and when he speaks, finally, his voice is ruff, broken at the edges, desperate, but trying to hide the pain,

"I _hate_ it, I hate the fact that that was voted in…."'

I am rewarded with silence again, and I can't help but think he is being honest, then he continues, and I listen, closely, still not moving a muscle, petrified that if I move he will get scared and will run, for in a moment like this he is a wild animal, uncaged, unleashed, but touchable, real,

"I saw the profit in bed and I went to my house, _my house,_ and knocked down the front door and I yelled at him, for ruining so many people's lives, and he didn't bat an eye, Rose, he didn't, he hugged me, and said some _bull_ , and sometimes I wonder if he still cares, if he is that _good guy_ ,"

The silence returns, and he is breathing fast, heavily, eyes still shut, as if he is blocking out the world, the darkness, the life, those golden lights, but what surprises me is that he isn't blocking out me, he is welcoming me, who is this person? Who is this creature that is so unknown, so rare, so _one of a kind._

He isn't done, and goes onwards, his voice like a lullaby, sad, so very sad,

"This life, Rose, this life destroys you, and he has had it for so long, since he was a kid, and so have I, what if I turn out like him, what if I can't handle it?"

I turn my head, he looks like a fallen angel, the wings are black, made out of smoke, as the darkness seems to form each feather, each curve, he is bowed with his head in his hands, hair shining in the light, but captured by the shadows, he doesn't cry, I don't think he is capable, but he does, he does talk, his figure looks crushed by the weight of something I don't understand. His fingers look like talons in the pitch black, growing in length like melted wax, peaking into points, and disappearing in his raven locks, they aren't long but they hang as if defeated, brushing against his golden skin. He has bags under his eyes, and his cheek bones look as if they could cut me, and yet still, with these flaws he is beautiful, and I can't help but prefer this James, with the vulnerable look, he looks real, and not like the god that walks these halls, he is touchable, he is here, with me, just us, and no one, no cameras, no laughing friends, just me and him. And I wonder where he fell from, and who pushed him over the edge, I wonder why he is saying that he hated heaven, I am wondering why he is saying he hates this life…

It's just us, just a girl and a boy, and the world could explode, burn, die, and we wouldn't notice. He looks younger, more my age, more human,

"Who is he, James?"

I think I already know, but that can't be right, I can't be right, there is a pause, and he answers me, not looking up,

"My dad, he voted for it to be passed, and it's…"

There is a silence that hangs in the air between us,

And I finish his sentence for him, "It's barbaric…"

My voice is small, and full of fear, and he can sense it, _I know he can._

He nods, head hanging as if the crown he carries is too heavy. And I sit up and I do something I don't think I even remember doing, it all feels like some dream, it can't be real, he looks so vulnerable, so young, so naïve, so crushed, his eyes are begging me to help him, to help him with everything, even though they are shut, his words, his gestures, he needs love. And I cannot give him that love, but I can give him something, something to make him feel better. I hated the law, but him, it was his own family that had implemented it, and that is no secret, he needs the warmth of a mothers touch, of a sister, of a friend.

I take one of his hands, not coarse, but this time the skin is soft to my touch, soft like velvet, soft like his voice. I run my index finger over the back of his hand, over where his fingers begin, dipping into each arch and each curve, and I trace his skin, and he shudders, with fear, and together we are afraid, of what is to come, of what the world will bring, and I cup his hand in mine turning his palm up, bathed in the lights hanging above us.

I pick up my wand and press it to his hand, where his fortune lines meet, and intersect at the crossroads on his palm, the wood is cold in my hand, but his skin is warm, and it ignites a flame, soft, like our words exchanged, soft like the dream of us flying, soft like his jacket, soft like the wind, soft like the light, soft like the breath, hot like the air we breathe, we share, in this moment.

My lips part, and I mouth, into that quiet, into that blackness the spell that binds us together in this moment, and I think of a happy memory, something that makes the fire grow, and there it is, V and I are laughing, the stars are above us and we are at the edge of the lake, her laughter makes the flames spark, her hand finds mine, and the stars watch us, her hands I know well, the flames dance, and then we bend our knees, counting under our breath, "One" our breathing is fast, "Two" our hearts are in our throats, "Three" and we jump and the fire spreads….

"Oblivion..." And the spell, that memory that makes my lips turn up I share, through my veins, to my fingertips grasping my wand, into the wand, down the wood, tracing the vines of the rose etched, and out of the point into his hands, into his veins and up and up to his mind and then down, and down to his heart.

The spell is whispered like a prayer and then from his fingertips the happiness starts to seep into him, making his skin glow, and become the sun itself, it is red, it is blue, it is silver, clear, and the sparks rise around us, dancing with us, flames reaching our eyes, and our skin glows, tracing us, encaging us, and I watch him see the memory, I watch him see it, I see the way his eyes relax, and a smile slips onto his face, and nothing is needed to be said, because in a moment this will be over, and we will pretend it never happened, we will lie and say that it isn't real, and when they ask, we will say, who?

The sparks battle the darkness and his wings of shadow disappear, and they light up the world, and I lie there, and our breathing becomes one, in sync as our chests rise and fall and our hearts beat, and he is happy, the moment we shared I have never done with anyone before, but I have seen V do it to Dom, and V has done it to me, and it is special, but different with James, because he understands it, how those 3 seconds feel like a thousand years, how they make everything better. Liquid joy, that's what it's called; it melts the memory's emotions and then spreads the adrenaline, the bliss into you.

And we have risen from where we fell, and we are angels, hands intertwined, my wand a barrier between us, and in a moment like this, I want it to last forever.

And then his eyes meet mine, they shine, on fire, alive, and he looks relieved, happier, better, and then the spell slowly fades, and the darkness comes back as each little spark crackles and dies, but the memory still haunts us

He smiles, just a shadow of a smile, just a memory, just a moment,

"Thank you,"

And he stands, disappearing into that darkness, leaving my hand warm, tingling with life, empty but yet my heart is full, and I lie back down, and I go to sleep lips upturned in the magnificence of a moment no one will ever know of, and we have added a secret to our darkness, the darkness, we have added us holding hands, shining like the sun in a little room, on a little bed, with a big, scary world turning on and on around us.

"Hey sleepy head!"

Lucy's voice is chipper, happy, full of a joy that I have always loved.

"Ughhhh, it is too early,"

I roll over, burying my head in the pillow, _as soft as snow_ ,

"Did James stay long?"

Her voice is sing song, but she acts as if she already knows, she is making conversation. I freeze and search for something to say that will work, to hide the secret, the dark has left, and I feel very empty, I can hardly remember what happened last night, but I do know that Potter is not at fault and that makes me smile. I think, pretending to be going back to sleep.

She pokes me and I raise my head with my eyebrows,

"You mean Potter was here?"

She gives me a long, searching look, and finally responds, "Nope!"

She goes to her book bag, and opens it and searches through it, pulling out folded clothes,

"It's Sunday, you gonna stay here another entire day of the _first weekend_?"

My jaw drops, and I am out of bed in seconds, throwing the sheets off of my tired form, hands flying to my hair to put it up in some sort of dishevelled pile on top of my head,

"You mean I was out for 2 days?!"

She has concern in her eyes, she is concerned that I had to stay here two days, concerned that maybe me fainting had something to do with the papers, and she opens her mouth to ask me what he said, but she changes her mind, and looks down at the clothes, fixing non-existent wrinkles in the cloth,

"She said you were stressed, that you needed a break, and whatever bloody Malfoy said to you made you pretty sick. With post-traumatic stress or some muggle term like that."

I shake my head, and flop back onto the bed, hair splaying across the pillow artfully, lost in my thought. Her eyes are probing, she knows exactly what post-traumatic stress is, and her eyes tell me that she won't bring it up unless I do, she always cares so much about my feelings, and I like that about her,

"Lucy," My voice is tentative,

She glances up, "Yeah?"

I look away, and then back at her,

"What happened to Harry Potter, after the war? He wasn't used to the crowd back then was he? Just a boy, right? What made everyone think he was so great, was royalty?"

She smiles, sadly almost,

"He killed You-Know-Who, but after that, he became an Auror, one of the best, and everyone was grateful but he wasn't famous, no, that happened later, almost by accident, he started the army, a way of protecting our community and making sure that The Minister of Magic wouldn't make the decisions if he was corrupt, like Fudge did, when he didn't believe Harry about how Voldemort was alive."

She pauses, and smiles at me, her eyes are far away, I wonder who told her this, her mom? V's mom, Hermione?

"I guess everyone started looking up to him, Aunt Ginny says that they needed a leader, someone they could trust, and that Harry was there at the right time, the right moment."

I nod, silent for a moment, James' words ring in my ears, " _This life, Rose, this life destroys you, and he has had it for so long, since he was a kid, and so have I, what if I turn out like him, what if I can't handle it?"_

I bite my lip, and look down at my hands, what if Potter is right, what if he will turn out like Harry did.

"He wasn't like that when he was younger was he? He was awkward and not good in front of lots of people, he was bullied and human, do you think he isn't a good person anymore, do you think it changed him?"

She nods with me, in agreement, her eyes looking at me, studying me, "Yes, I suppose he was, he was just 17 when he killed someone, that changes you, and then to go into the profession of killing people, bad people, it would make you different…"

She is silent, studying me, and she knows what we are really talking about,

"He is a good person, Rose, it's the good people that can sacrifice a few to save a million, maybe saving the world changes you? He didn't want his kids, his family to grow up not being believed in, being called a liar, so he created something special, and now they never will be. That makes him an even better person Rose, and he doesn't call himself royalty, the newspaper does, Rita Skeeter does."

I nod, and she scrunches her eyebrows together as we watch each other, she tilts her head back, eyes questioning,

"What's with all the weird question Thorne?"

I look at her for a second and I think about telling her about the fallen and the darkness and how for a moment someone was human, and how that human told me things, knowledge, that makes me powerful. But it is our secret, so I drop the conversation, and I let go of that lingering confusion that anger, that fear, gone, it flies away. And I laugh, getting out of bed, pushing her out of the way, and grabbing the clothes, and then I stop, and look at her, grinning, and her eyes mirror my joy, she raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to act, and then I do, dropping them onto the tiled floor, and turning on my heels, hair falling around me from on top of my head, and dancing with the wind as my feet hit the ground, and I stop, turning to look at her over my shoulder, daring her to follow, an eyebrow arched in defiance, and I raise a hand, palm up, an offering,

"Race you to the great hall!"

She gives me a strange look, and laughs, gesturing to the pile of fabric forgotten on the ground,

 _"_ _Your clothes,"_

I giggle, the world isn't ending, not right now, not today, and I feel strong, yes the papers have a headline that terrifies me, but James Potter he didn't help put it there and I can't help but want to celebrate that. And in this time, the seventh day of the first week home, I want to celebrate being home, I want to dive into the familiar waters and gaze at the stars, I want to be with my family and have a day off, where I am young, and there is no responsibility, no world crushing me, no danger.

And I turn, out the door, that I fling open before me, it is warm to my touch, the sunlight stretches before me, and I want to race it, to run without any rains, to burst through the limit, to break the rules, I want to be happy, I want to be home, to be a kid, that isn't a crime, and so I run, nightgown flapping against my legs, hair flying behind me, I toss it over my shoulder as I look behind me, back at the stricken form of Lucy Weasley and then she smiles, and I scream,

"Coming?"

She giggles and she nods, and we are one, we just need the other halves, the other parts of our heart, so we run for them, towards them.

And I am running through the halls, she is taking after me, our feet slam into the wood floors, and we are screaming, laughing at the top of our lungs, the corridors are mostly empty but those who are in them, clear the way, eyebrows raised in shock, some cheering us on, and I am alive, we get to the main stair well, and fly down each step, my dress going behind me, the wind causing it to blow around, the sunlight making me shine like a lucky penny, and we burst into that great hall, a mess of tangled limbs, landing on the floor in a puddle, tangled together. We can't stop laughing, can't stop living, and we are unstoppable, Lucy's hair is in my eyes, and she and I sit there, collecting ourselves, while chuckling, eyes glistening with bliss.

Everyone looks up, eyebrows raised, thank god most of the teachers are absent, but the ones here glance over and roll their eyes to the heavens and continue eating their food. I am up, standing, nightgown falling just below my knees, its sleeves long, brushing my wrists, the fabric soft and my hair is everywhere, my eyes wide, my feet bare, warm on the cold ground of the hall, and I pass the Slytherin table, where Scorpius watches me, a smile on his face, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor.

And then I am running again, giggling like crazy as I run for that Gryffindor table where Dom watches me with horror filled eyes, taking in my form, Roxy hides her head in her hands beside her, and V smiles back at my grin, mirroring my joy.

I skid to a stop and breath in the air, cheeks rosy as I watch Dom's jaw drop, she splutters out a,

"I thought Lucy brought you some clothes?"

I giggle, loud, and grab her hands and pull her to her feet and spin her around and around, she shrieks of laughter with me, and leans into my embrace, and she knows I'm okay, she gasps out a, "Merlin's beard"

And then we are hugging, squeezing each other as we keep turning and turning, hair streaming around us, blonde and brown mixing.

Roxy hugs me from behind, hair tickling my neck and I pull away, pushing her, and Veronica is there, Lucy dragging her over, and we all loop our arms over each other's shoulders, and walk out, all together, giggling and trying to keep straight faces, and look dignified in our dishevelled forms as we make our escape, and run for the grounds, out the front doors , the sun shines high and bathes us with its light, making us golden, making us one, and my heart is healed, we are complete with each other, and with the sky the limit above us, and the world, just dirt and water beneath us, and us in the middle of it all. We are blocking out the eyes, the curious looks, the way they talk about us, the way the newspaper follows us, but we do not look back to see it.

There is a certain pair of eyes, as golden as the sun, that watch us, watch me, no looking back, but it seems impossible because he isn't just behind, he is in front, he is all around, and I keep my eyes forward as he watches me, watches us skip, the grass tickling my bare skin, the way my feet get muddy with the dirt wet from the rain days ago, the way the sun heats our skin, and makes it glow with life, a life worth living. And then he looks away, and I can breathe again, and so I breathe, the air, the smells, the freedom, the day just to ourselves as the mornings bright gives us hours to stay awake and have the time of our lives before that darkness comes again…

And we are pulling each other to the lake, Roxy starts to scream for help, but we drag her with us and in we go, jumping, the water is cold, as it surrounds us, and we start splashing each other, our laughter high in the air, flying above us, dunking each other under the water, it is clear and cool, and we play in it, hair getting wet, and flowing behind us, and we stay in the shallows, as the morning light climbs in the sky and then we race each other across it, where it gets so deep, you can see the mermaids scales shine in the mist, dark in the depths below you, below us. We dive to that bottom, as far as we can possibly go before our lungs start begging us for air, and we rush for the surface, legs kicking wildly, gasping. We climb onto each other's backs and lock our legs around our waists, and look up at the sky above us, the birds that fly, blue, and bright colours as well, they also come to the lake for its water, and dive into the darkness below us, coming out with ruffled wings and fish and other creatures clutched in their tiny beaks.

The lake is like the memory, there are no stars but there are us, all of us, Lucy, Roxanne, Veronica, Dominique and me, we jump into that lake over and over, sometimes diving, other times trying to a trick in the air before we hit the water, but failing every time miserably, we fall in love with the way the water surrounds us, and how our clothes stick to our skin as we play in its waves, the small beach that it has on the far side, we build sand castles and then have wars, trying to block each other from knocking over our creations, screaming and hitting each other, eventually getting thrown back into that same, sacred water.

And the day goes by playing games, we spent that day in the lake, and after, we got some of the treats that Roxy had previously got in Hogsmead yesterday and sat in a circle on a red and white checkered cloth, underneath a big tree, that provided us with shade and we played wizards chess, me and Dom having the first match where I won, and then me and V battling it out for 5 games, tying all four and the fifth Lucy took the board and dumped it in the lake, causing me and V to dash after it, getting soaked yet again, and fishing it out, diving for the missing pieces, finding all but one, which Dom had. Roxy watched it all holding her sides in laughter, tears wetting her face, tears of joy.

We then moved on to exploding snaps, which I failed at repeatedly, and Roxy was the winning champion, winning al 19 games, we read romantic novels to each other, impersonating their love struck voices, jumping up to act out the over dramatic scenes, and using lake water ad fake tears of grief. Dominique was born for the stage, and I always admired the way she loved acting out the gentleman, and the drooling damsel, I could watch her for hours, and gave her an encore every time.

As the light slipped we made horrible concoctions, out of the little potion supplies we got for us to drink, making us gag, and scream at each other that we were going to die, who knows, I'm sure some of them could be quite fatal. We climbed the trees, seeing who could do it the fastest, and talked about our love life, we laughed all day, stomachs sore from the happiness we felt, we raced, and tripped and fell on our faces, but we got up every time, we went in that lake over and over, our clothes staying damp all day, we dared each other to go talk to the giant squid, or some boy like Asher Longbottom. We broke into the Herbology green house, and stole a mandrake root, _to be returned later_ , and tried to dig it out, like we had to do in our first year, we all almost lost a hand or a finger.

It was endless, perfect, and we were just kids, just fourteen, and we laughed, on that grass, under that tree, and after it all we went into the great hall and piled our plates high, and carried them outside, well me and V worked on a light spell, which eventually worked, but would fade after 5 minutes or so, and we ate our feast under the stars, the moon bathing us in its crescent light.

After eating we howled to that moon, heads upturned, and we put on some music, Roxy knew a spell, and we danced, from waltzing, to ballroom, to rolling around on the ground, and attempting hip hop, we were even worse at tango, but we had fun, and in a moment that seemed to last forever we were living a life we wanted to, without headlines, and hazel eyes, and the world. And when we were done we lied on that blanket, eyes turned upwards, almost everyone had gone inside, and we stayed out there, with the diamond like stars looking down. And we talked about our futures, what our life would be like, who we'd marry, who we would be, what we would name our kids, and it felt like this was the beginning, and our cheeks hurt from smiling, and our hearts were light, alight. There was a calm in the still of our murmuring words, the whispers soft, and the darkness that had fallen as the sky had set, and the sun had said tis goodbyes, this darkness it was different then yesterday, it knew things, but it was happy, around us, and it wasn't within us, there were no talons, no wings, just 5 girls with hands interlaced, gazing up through the leaves at the universe above us. Just 5 girls with hearts a singing.

Roxy rolls over and props herself up to look at me,

"Alright, question of the day, what is going on with you and James?"

I look up, and start to think of a lie, but she shakes her head,

"The truth you horrible piece of pumpkin pasty!"

I giggle, and look back up at the stars, "Fine, we talk; well he comes over and talks,"

"About?"

Her eyebrows wiggling and I hit her in the arm, and look up at the stars, I can't seem to ever look away for long, they are so very fascinating.

"He is very rude, and selfish,"

My voice is steady; I have to put effort into keeping it steady,

She smiles wide, "Maybe you'll need to change your future husband from Frank Longbottom,"

"Hey, I only said Frank 'cause I couldn't think of anyone better than him!'

Dom cuts in,

"How about darling Scorpius, who; _didn't say anything bad to me the other day when I fainted, cause I just needed to faint into his blonde arms, oh!"_

I throw my head back and laugh, she is mocking me, but I don't mind, I know she cares too much to hurt me,

"Scorp?! God know, we don't like each other like that, or at all!"

Lucy giggles, "Liar!"

I cover my face with my hands, "You guys are horrible, I have no idea why were friends,"

Veronica responds, "Because were the only family you have, and you never get to choose your family, so your stuck with us, till the end of everything, when you and Frank are old, and you are done cheating on him with James and Malfoy, and have like 7 kids, and half of them _aren't Franks_ ,"

I let out a shriek, "VERONICA WEASLEY!"

She shuts me up with a hand going over my mouth, "We will still be there, always, and when Frank dies, probably because Dom kills him, because she doesn't like when people have more attention than her, we will still be there,"

I push her hand off my mouth, "Enough with seeing my future, _it sucks_ , you better shut up, V, or I'll let Dom _on_ you!"

We laugh, but Roxy isn't done with her interrogation,

"James doesn't notice anyone Rose, he sees only people he wants to see,"

I study the stars, sighing, "What's your point Rox?"

She gazes at me, but Dom answers for her, "She means that you must have done something to spark his interest,"

I lick my lips and bite the inside of my cheek, they are beautiful up there, I wonder if they can hear us, those little lights so far away,

"Nothing, but…."

I pause, and I wonder into the silence as they wait for me to continue,

"He isn't interested like _that_ , I think,"

I shrug my shoulders, and look at Roxanne,

"I think he just wants someone to talk to…"

Roxy scoffs, "To _talk to_ , _we are_ talking about James Sirius Potter, not someone else, right?"

Lucy giggles, and hits me in the arm, "It sounds like someone's getting sentimental!"

I giggle with her, "No, it's just, no one can be all bad, not even someone as horrible as James Potter…"

Veronica smiles at me, "Sweetheart, I am glad you are giving him the benefit of the doubt, but…"

And she chuckles, glancing down and Dom finished her sentence for her, "But, he is soooo interested in not being friends,"

And we all laugh, I cover my face with my hands as the blush fades as quickly as it came, we laugh and laugh, but Lucy groans hand clutching her stomach, "Roxy I think you gave me food poisoning with that las invention, the one that was brown and looked like goop, ughh, I think I'm gonna die,"

Roxy sits up and nods solemnly, "Any last words Lucy Weasley,"

She nods with her, pretending to be serious, "Yes, go die in a hole,"

Roxy tackles her on the ground and they begin to fake wrestle yelling harmless insults at each other, and Dom places her head on my lap, and I begin to braid her long hair, that shines like liquid silver in the moons distant light, watching their tangled limbs collide as they hit and scrape, all the while one of Lucy's hands clutching her hurting stomach.

Veronica smiles contentedly, and rolls over on to her stomach and takes out her wand and turns off the lights, causing us all to shriek in hatred,

"HOW DARE!"

Roxy roars, as she can no longer see her opponent, but our eyes adjust and we settle down, a group of girls, and in a moment like this we're kids, were fourteen, and I promise myself that I will spend the rest of this year like this, having the time of my laugh with my family, closer than friends.

Lucy starts to sing horribly, and we all cover our ears and yell at her to stop, and Roxy is on her again, and they fight in the darkness, unable to see one and other but still attempting to, eyes squinted, hitting air.

And we slowly watch the stars, whispering to each other, sometimes we begin to tickle the other persons sides and we all shriek, but slowly we fall asleep under the blanket of the stars, hair tangled, but hands intertwined, limbs crossed over and becoming one person, in a moment like this I want it to last forever. And I love it, the way it makes me forget the world behind us. And I fall asleep listening to their breathing, but before I do, Dom whispers to me,

"Have you ever been in love Rose?"

My eyes open and I look at the stars, her head still rests on my lap, her head braided now, long and luxurious,

"You mean, in love with someone I'd want to spend the rest of my life with?"

She nods, she doesn't look at me. I gaze at the moon; it is so beautiful in the still, the lullaby of their constant breathing making it even more magical of a moment.

"No, but I think if you think you are then you better do something about it, and you're brave, so tell him, tell whoever it is just how much,"

She looks very broken in the still; I wonder why I didn't notice it before, so caught up in the moment,

"What if they don't love you back?"

Her voice is timid, she is scared of the answer, of what I might say, and I look down at her, and she looks up at me,

"It doesn't matter what their response could be, because if you never tell them, then they might never tell you, and then your heart is broken before you even got a chance…"

She watches me, her eyes are hopeful, scared, "What if it's forbidden?"

I look away, at the sky that shines down on us, at the tree, the way the bark twists and turns, the way the leaves rustle,

"You mean what if James doesn't approve of his friend being with you?"

She nods, slowly, her heart thumping through her chest; I can feel its vibrations through my body.

"James Potter doesn't rule the world Dom, and don't let him rule yours…"

She licks her lips, eyes never darting from mine, her gaze steady, "Then who does, who rules the world Rose?"

I smile sadly, "No one,"

She nods, the silence stretches on and on, and then it ends, with a soft whisper that I have to strain to hear,

"I think I'm in love…"

I am quiet for a moment, "Is this the same thing as before? The same person…"

She smiles sadly, and responds with an answer unspoken, "Goodnight Rose…"

And I reach out a hand and run it through her hair, softly, eyes kind,

"You should be sure, sure that you love him because once you say those three words, you can't go back, and thinking and knowing are different things. Dom, we are so young, what do we know about love?"

She closes her eyes, a tear slipping, long, tired, clear and transparent and it traces her cheek and disappears,

"Nothing Rose, we don't know anything about it, but I think it's when you feel at home with someone,"

I don't respond, and I look away, at those stars that I have been gazing at all night,

"When they can calm you down, and hold you and when they make you feel so alive, Rose, have you ever felt that alive?"

And I pull her into a hug and then close my eyes, my answer is in that darkness, the darkness that knows all, that reads me like a picture book that knows my secret, that darkness that is powerful, that weakens me, that saw the way I looked at him, the way the sparks rose around us,

"Goodnight Dom…"


	9. Malfoys and Crystal Globes

~James' POV~

9\. Malfoys and Crystal Globes

Sunday was long, time running by in slow motion, and when the stars did come out, and the sun dipped down, hiding behind the horizon, its reds and yellows fading into darkness, they shined but the shine was dull, as if the life had been sucked from their glow, as if it had been drained. And they were reflected off of the lake, and all through the castle, they peaked in the windows, and under the doors, silver, just rocks high above, but diamonds are rocks too. But that night they didn't look like diamonds they looked like actors, smiling because that's what their good at, shining, because what else can they do?

Sunday had been long because I wanted an excuse to tell the people who looked at me with those eyes, wondering if I had just voted for the law that was passed, wondering if I had a say, it was tiring and so I welcomed my bed, the sleep, the tossing and turning, the feeling of being lost behind my closed eyes. But it was hard to hide in my head because a voice kept saying over and over that maybe it was my fault, that if I had just done something, if I had grown up faster, if I had changed the world, and sleep took long to come, and when it did it was restless, and twisted.

The nightmare was dark, and there was a girl, all dressed in black, she was young, but she was older than me, just small from starvation and lack of nutrition, her eyes were blank, as if she couldn't see me, but she was reaching for me, she was begging me to help her, her eyes were blank and empty because I had emptied them, I had taken her memories, I had erased from this world, when she was already nothing, a nobody. She wanted me because I was her mission. And then I woke up.

The mirror is cloudy from the condensation and the steam of my hot shower. The towel is hung low over my hips, a dark red, looking almost like blood, as it dripped with water forming a puddle at my feet, on those white tiles, the water is clear, transparent and I fear the way it also reflects my face, just like that clouded mirror does. And I watch me, I try to watch me like they would, to prepare myself for the halls, the corridors, the classrooms, people can destroy someone's life, someone's courage with just one look, but when you have a thousand, how do you face them? You learn to understand, how they watch you with curiosity, and hatred and interest, maybe fear, all mixed together into an emotion unknown to me, nameless, but follows me like a ghost, steps behind.

But all I see in that obscured glass is a boy, my black hair damp, sticking up, my eyes are brown, confused, scared, but I let that fear seep away, out of my face, out of me, my muscles are prominent, my jawline sharp, my cheekbones high, some would say I was beautiful, handsome, perfect, and that is because I stand here every morning and look in this mirror and I hide, painting the layers on top of the skin, first I drain that fear, down the silver drain it goes, through the pipes to the gutters, to the sewage, then I let go of the anger, letting it slip out of me, and I grab onto the happiness, the courage, and I hide beneath that bravery, and I say I'm brave over and over, and at some point its true, I'm brave.

This summer was incredible, I had time with my family, without having to concern myself with the war that was beginning to rise, but in a moment like this, it all feels so complicated, this summer Sheila and I had the time of our life, I wouldn't say I love her, sometimes I don't even like her, she doesn't ask questions, she thinks she already has my figured out, but she makes me happy, a smile on my face, not a grin, but the lips do turn upwards, she isn't funny, but she is ironic when she doesn't even know, she is beautiful, her beauty isn't unique, but it is admirable. She caught my attention because she thought that I was transparent like that puddle of water that my feet rest in, and for some reason I wanted to prove her wrong, and I don't think I ever did, because I blocked her off, and hid behind the mask that everyone else sees, and she was special, but not that special. You see I like things that you can gaze at forever, and still not understand, things like me, that have layers, and a secret beneath each one, Sheila is an extraordinary example of ordinary, but I prefer examples of extraordinary.

Mondays, the beginning of a week, of a day, of a term, my feet trace my steps up, and up they carry me to the divination tower, that is high above us, spiralling to the skies. And as we walk, my friends and I, through the corridors the eyes follow me, the whispers haunt me, they are wondering if I voted, if I made that decision, their eyes drown me, and I pretend that I can't see the way they look at me, the way they judge every move, and I don't dare look into their eyes, their questions. I am brave, I believe in ordinary acts of bravery, like walking down that hall, without letting them see how terrified I am, how I am asking myself the same questions they are asking me. Their eyes trace my steps. But there is a pair of eyes I do look at.

His tie is green, his hair white, as if ice itself, he has one friend walking with him, she is younger, hair white as snow as well, but they are cousins, on his mother's side, though I forget her name, he is tall, standing out in the corridor, his features noticeable in a crowd, but today all eyes are on me, and it is as if he is invisible, all eyes including his. His robes hang on his slim form, his face is high, all shadows, but in those eyes I see a guilt, brewing in the darkness, though his eyes are light, they hold a secret, more than one, and I know them all.

His are eyes burning into me, he is watching me because he was born to watch, and I look back because he is just like me, except no one sees him. His name isn't branded on the newspapers, in history, instead it hides in those shadows, and his eyes they still hold the shadows, he knows I wasn't there, he knows, but he doesn't have the eyes, the blame, even though he was. He was there, he voted, those lives were in his hands, and I know why he voted, his mom, I know why she got sick. I remember the meeting, the table was long and the silence, and how it seemed endless. And how when my father spoke, his jaw ticked, his eyes were hardened, "You shouldn't have trusted them. They don't care whose side you're on, they have one mission, to finish the war that he started, and you trusted them? How is _your wife_ Draco?"

I remember how Malfoy glared at him, how the guilt was in his eyes then, how much he hated the fact that it was their own fault, they had made a mistake, a mistake that will last a life time, that almost lost a life. Scorpius didn't know the mess his father had made, but he understood why, he wanted his parents, Draco wanted his parents out of jail, out of Azkaban, so he made a deal, he would give them information, if they did him that favour, but he didn't tell them true information, he lied, and they knew and they poisoned her, Astoria, and she got sick quick.

His eyes tell me he did it for revenge, to show them he could hurt them too, but his eyes are guilty, scared, and as everyone watches me, watch him, it feels like a lie, all of it, we are too young to know what is right for the world, Scorpius is too blinded by his father's ideals, he follows his footsteps to make him proud, I defy my father's footsteps because he makes mistakes that are far too big for me to copy. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly, and I feel my jaw begin to tic, so I nod at him and I mouth through the crowd, and he reads my lips, and nods in response, they read a silent command, a conversation that is soon to be had,

"We need to talk…"

I wonder for a moment if Rose knows, if he told her, if he said I destroyed their lives, if he looked her in those angry eyes and said I'm sorry, and said I shouldn't have, but I am wrong, no, I never thought he would have had the courage to tell her, I would have, if she has asked me I would have told her everything. Either way he didn't because there she comes, dashing through the crowd, weaving past the people, her hair streaming behind her, long and untidy, not neatly put up like it should be, but it flows around her, like liquid gold, normally it is high on her head, tucked to perfection, though I rather it down, it makes her look like a goddess, her eyes are full of a joy I can't place, they are like the grass outside, a vibrant green that seems to glow, and she is running for him, not for me, for him, and he looks at me, his eyes not yet seeing her, not yet noticing his luck coming towards him, and I see a flicker of fear in those light blue eyes, that look like glass, he thinks I might know, I might know what he did, and he thinks I might tell, but he looks away, and their arms rap around each other, and she is smiling, she is laughing, and I look away, she doesn't know, bloody Malfoy didn't have the guts to tell her.

And I run a hand through my hair, brushing it out of my eyes, it is a movement I have grown accustomed to doing, when I'm nervous, angry, flustered, and I continue to walk that hall, with the crowd that watches and watches me, and they take in each detail, the way my bag hangs off of my left shoulder, carelessly, the lion etched on it roaring at them, the way my eyes are locked forward, the way my hands swing naturally by my side, the way I plaster the smirk on my face, to keep them wondering what I have done, wondering if I know the mess that I have created, it is a game of hide and seek, and the countdown is on. But they don't dare confront me, they don't dare yell, because they are unsure, they wonder from a far but not up close.

Divination is quiet, the waiting room is full but when I walk in they all go silent. There are more eyes, more judgment, who knew today, was judgement day? It was a Monday but it was also a reminder of what this life is like, and it seems as if I am being reminded far too often, my friends, they form a barrier between me and the gazes but underneath each gaze is a hatred, an interest, an emotion, and I am not afraid, I want to pick a fight, to punch them, destroy them, to tell them they have no idea what sacrifice is, that they are children in a play pen, and they shouldn't pretend to know what the world is like but I keep walking, and so we keep going.

Fred breaks my line of thought, his voice jokey, knowing I need a good laugh,

"Lydia Creevey got hot man,"

I roll my eyes and punch him hard in the arm, causing him to yelp in fake pain, the grin comes naturally, and the eyes are forgotten, my voice rings back at him, drawling and loud in the still,

"Red heads aren't my type,"

Scamander chuckles, head thrown back, his brown hair moving with the motion,

"Breaking the legacy of Potters liking the fire?"

I shake my head, grinning back at him, wide, happy, my friends may be idiots, but they are my idiots,

"I _am the fire;_ all I need now is the ice,"

Prewett hits me on the back laughing, his hand strong from being my golden chaser,

"Yeah right, you're _destined_ for a red head, it's written in the stars mate,"

Lorcan raises his eyebrows, pretending to act surprised,

"The divination getting to your head? Deciding to get private tutoring with Trelawney to find " _what's written in the bloody stars?"_

I shake my head, chuckling, my hair falling into my eyes; it never seems to stay in place, no matter what I do,

"Well he can't want private tutoring to get closer to her, she's what 400?"

Fred cackles, gasping for breath, "Maybe he's into older woman!"

John Prewett tackles him and they start to scuffle, and I watch them, my lips upturned.

But Lysander isn't finished; he hangs his arm over my shoulders, broad, strong,

"But seriously mate, first there was Lily, red hair, then there was your mum, who is flaming hot, by the way,"

I mock horror, and slap his arm off, hitting him hard in the rib cage, causing him to attempt to dodge but fail,

"Don't you talk about my mum like that you idgit, I'll rip your bloody head off!"

He chuckles, and continues, trying to put his arm back around me, but I refuse to comply, we are joking, but still we are having all the fun in the world,

"What I was saying, was red is in your blood man, your _type_ is fire, and fire and fire is sparks!"

I roll my eyes, and go to tackle him but before I can,

Skinny arms wrap around my waist, and my lips turn into a small smile, they have become familiar, but familiar can either mean home, or too often,

Her voice is soft, but playful. Sheila.

"Checking out other girls Jamie?"

I lean into her embrace, it almost comes naturally, the movement, but she isn't warm, she isn't home,

"Nope, I only have eyes for you,"

It's a lie, and my friends know it, maybe she does, hell, I don't know much about her,

Lysander scoffs under his breath, "And anything that has legs…"

I hit him over the head with my bag, causing him to shriek in hatred,

Sheila walks around me and looks up at me, her eyes are smiling back at mine, happier than mine, I try to get my lips to turn up higher, and Lysander watches with eyebrows raised, shaking his head at me, eyes dancing.

Her voice is still soft, it reminds me of another soft voice, but I shake my head the thought is gone, the moment I have forbidden myself to think about is gone, this voice, Sheila's voice it is more real, it is realistic, because she cares,

"I miss the summer, school is so hectic and you are always so far away, we didn't even get to spend the first weekend together…"

Her voice is quiet, timid, she doesn't want me to get angry, and I couldn't, not at her, at me? Yes I am already angry with me, I may not be the best boyfriend, or the best friend, but I have honour, and integrity, and I don't fall for another girl while I am with someone else.

I run a hand through my hair again, and sigh, pulling her into a one armed hug; she rests her head on my shoulder, and I respond, the eyes in the room are on us, and again, that little moment of bliss is over, and I see them again, I feel them again,

"I know, but with everything that's going on, it'll die down soon, and it'll go back to normal,"

She smiles up at me; she is always smiling up at me,

"With you, there is no normal… But this summer you were there, and I know you aren't used to long term relationships, I'm not stupid,"

I smile down at her, and I am about to answer as a voice of gold cuts into our conversation, and captures my attention in a heartbeat, it sounds like liquid silver, I could listen to the rise and fall, the pronunciation of each word, each vowel that rolls off of her tongue, the breathe between the sentences, the pauses, the way it makes me want to forget about everything, about Sheila. The emotion that runs with each word, no one talks with that much emotion, no one but her,

"Potter, our project, which we are supposed to be doing _every week_ , is behind, and I am not comfortable with sacrificing my first placement in this _course_ for some numb-nut, who doesn't understand the importance of group effort."

And Sheila is forgotten, and my eyes fall onto her, her hair is up, curly with the water of the lakes minerals that mixed with it yesterday. Her uniform is freshly pressed and neatly assembled without a wrinkle in sight, her eyes are wide, guarded, as if there is a wall, the wall has been built to pretend that the moment didn't happen, but she isn't good at pretending, I am, I always have been pretending. I can see cracks in the wall, they are invisible but stand out, and Sheila is more invisible than those cracks.

"Ahhh, Rose, what a pleasure, how has your morning been going?"

My voice is sarcastic, and I say her name because I love the way it sounds, the way it rolls off of my tongue easily, the way I it sounds so mysterious. She rolls her eyes, hands going to rest on her hips, taking my attention to the curve of them beneath her heavy clothing, as she narrows her eyes at me, scoffing in silent hatred, no, not hatred, distaste,

" _Not good_. I have had to stress about this project, and how I am already becoming behind, and it is the start of the second week, _it is horrific_."

I nod, pretending to be listening to each word, and without noticing I forget about the eyes, the people watching, just as I forgot about Sheila. Maybe if I noticed then the way the world disappears when she talks, then I would have taken her then, and made it my mission to love her, to hold her, but I was blind, and I didn't notice, I was a child, in the children's play pen, and so I ignored, and I played, and we bantered but it wasn't real until we both realised it was worth something, that it was a one of a kind thing.

My voice is curt, jokey, but playing serious, to get her angry,

"Well that makes two of us, I am so worried about the work load, I think were gonna fail, I mean it's the beginning of the second week, _it's the end of the world!"_

She steps forward, eyes slits of piercing rage, I can rile her up in seconds, in minutes, in one sentence, I think that's an art form worth noticing. Not that I'm self-conceited but I could pat myself on the back, and say _"Good job James, she stepped closer,"_

She opens her mouth and uses that rage in her words,

"It is the bloody end of the bloody universe _you fool_ , and if we keep this up we _will_ fail,"

Sheila cuts in, her voice like ice, she must have seen the way I watched her, and I feel guilty, because now I notice her, I notice my arm around her, her eyes gazing at me in anger, hurt, but not hurt that I am yelling at a girl, no, hurt that I forgot her, that I left her behind. She thinks I'm yelling at a classmate, how wrong she is, we aren't yelling we are daring each other with words, battling with sentences, out smarting each other, attempting to win, we are playing, but no one needs to know that. She thinks that some girl named Rose is being rude to her boyfriend, and so she attempts to protect me, which I must say is rather amusing,

"That is kind of dramatic, don't you think? And just so you know, you were interrupting something _Thorne._ "

Rose finally notices Sheila, and she stares in horror, her eyes realising her has stepped over an invisible line, and she becomes that courteous girl again, with self-respect and dignity,

"I'm so sorry, umm, Potter _, James_ , I will talk to you later, in class, about this, sorry Sheila, I didn't notice you there, _sorry_ ,"

She sounds nervous, eyes darting between the two of us, the position we are in, the way our hands interlace, the way we hold each other. And she is flustered, flustered that she has been called out, and I feel slightly annoyed at Sheila, but I let that pass, and I look at Rose, my eyes connecting with hers, and she shakes her head just a little, a warning,

"We'll talk about this in class _Amaryllis"_

She places a hand over her face, shaking her head as she walks away, muttering under her breath a few colourful insults as she leaves.

I can feel the annoyance of Sheila's existence coming back, but instead of voicing my distaste I lean down and kiss her forehead, "See you after class,"

And before she can respond, and say whatever it is that is coming to her mind, me and my friends keep walking, leaving her behind. Fred glances at me, he knows me well, all my friends do,

"Who's the hot chick?"

I glance at him, and then look away, "What hot chick?"

Lysander laughs and pushes me, causing me to stumble a few steps forward and push him back, he trips and catches himself, saying,

"Come now _Potter_ a new hot girl? Should I go tell her to dye her hair red in preparation?"

They laugh around me, and I shake my head, rolling my eyes,

"I told you red heads and I don't get along, I'm not gonna date someone that looks like my mum,"

Prewett covers his mouth as he shrieks loud, "I'd date someone that looks like your mom, cause she is smoking,"

I hit him in the stomach hard, he splutters, still laughing, I yell at him, eyes dancing with laughter,

" _ENOUGH_ with the mom jokes, _Merlin_ , she's forty-three for god's sake!"

We all cackle, heads thrown back as we laugh, but I'm not done

" _And she is happily married!_ There are lots of pretty girls you guys can go drown in, just _not red heads"_

Lysander is crying from laughter, "Cause you are taking them all?"'

I shake my head, my teeth glisten in the sunlight s I laugh, "For the last time, I am in a relationship!"

Fred pounds me on the back, his hand heavy, but I don't mind the playful act,

"Not for long, you don't do long,"

John Prewett ruffles my already un-kept hair,

"That's because he doesn't have a long attention span, he gets tired of something and gets rid of it, but you won't get rid of me, will you _Jamie boy?"_

I smack his hands away, "I am _already_ tired of you Prewett!"

And we all laugh loud in the still, the grins are wide, they come naturally, freely, unforced, and John fakes a blow to the heart, mocking sobs, and stumbles as Fred tackles him again, wrestling him to the ground, eyes laughing, and I watch them amused.

Dom jumps onto my back, legs looping around my waist, unexpected, her long blonde hair tangling around me like a halo, she isn't heavy, light as a feather, but I still groan in distaste, and pretend that she is breaking my back, making her hit my back repeatedly,

"Have you seen my friend?"

Her voice is groggy, she always hates mornings,

 _"_ _What friends?"_

She hits me on top of the head,

"Fine, you know Sheila was crying in the bathroom on Saturday…"

She is trying to get me to respond, to tell her why, but I didn't even know she was, the news is new for me, and I swallow, my façade breaking for a moment, but is fixed in seconds,

 _"_ _Was she?"_

She smacks my head again, "Stop answering my questions with questions!"

I chuckle, "That wasn't a question, you were telling me a fact,"

She groans,

"What's up with you and Sheila?"

I attempt to push her off but she tightens her grip,

"Nothing, we're perfect"

She raps her arms around my throat,

"Alright, what's going on with you and Al?"

I stop walking, just for a moment and sigh and then continue,

"You mean why aren't we talking?"

I feel her nod, I walk, feet climbing higher up the latter, passing the 1st years classroom, and the seconds, we share one with the thirds, meaning we have separate classes in the same classroom at different times,

"Yeah, why aren't you talking?"

She finally let's go, and turns me around, hands on her hips, eyebrows raised, she feels as if she is another pair of those eyes that watch my every move, she feels ordinary in a moment like this, that seem to be recording my life in their memory, as if it is a movie, or a dream, as if it is worth their gazes.

"No reason, class is starting, maybe you'll find the answers to your questions in the stars or a _bloody crystal ball!"_

And I walk away, leaving her standing, her eyes forward, watching me walk, and walk. I was frank, rude, but some questions I don't dare answer, not in public, not now.

She watches me, how I watch Al, with love, kindness, worry, wondering what the weight of the world just might be, what I am carrying. Al and I are close, but this summer bloody Malfoy formed a crater in our relationship, and a different question rings in my ears, its Al's voice, _"Did you know James? God you did, didn't you?!"_

I sit next to Rose, her eyes glancing up at me, cheeks reddening, she must see the haunted look in my eyes, and in that glance her eyes look away, as if she doesn't want to see the troubles, and I respect that. Her voice is strong, as if it is rehearsed, and with her, it probably is,

"I'm sorry about back there, I didn't notice, what I mean is sorry,"

I chuckle under my breath, it is forced, the gazes weigh me down,

"I didn't mind, Sheila is a little possessive,"

She just nods and goes back to sketching the big dipper, her eyebrows scrunched in concentration, forming a crease on her brow, the drawing is well done, she has a talent, more than one, but a talent with the pen, the way it turns in her hands, the way she uses it to form perfection,

I continue, "You wanted to talk about our project, that's no crime,"

She glances up at me, eyes meeting mine for a second, and then she looks back down, at the page, the stars she has sketched,

"It is a crime to talk to a girl's boyfriend without acknowledging his girlfriend,"

I shake my head, and she turns hers to look back down, but I catch it, a finger shooting out and slipping under her chin, the skin is smooth, cold, as if she is lifeless, the strange temperature unnerves me, she should be warm, and I wonder why she is that icy, but I don't mention it, I don't voice my concern, and I respond to her one liner,

"Some people are better not acknowledged, and some people aren't permanent or important enough to remember,"

She looks at me, curious, "Potter, she's your girlfriend…"

She says that as if it explains everything, as if I needed a reminder of that fact,

"I don't do long term,"

And she chuckles, tearing her chin out of my grasp, eyes as cold as her skin, and she shakes her head, hair tossing from one shoulder to the next,

"And you think she doesn't deserve to be acknowledged; _I think it's the other way around, Potter_ ,"

And goes back to her sketch, drawing each star, and lining them up, finding the arch, and then getting the angle of it, looking at it this way and that, focused,

I voice my opinion on her work,

"The big dipper isn't that long; the last two stars are closer together, by 2 millimetres or so, _not to be exact_ ,"

She bites her cheek in annoyance and grounds her teeth together, making a soft sound,

"I don't remember asking your opinion, _Professor Trelawney,"_

I laugh under my breath, a quiet sound, but she hears it,

"Fine, but she'll take away points for the mistake; you won't get your A+"

She turns and looks at me hotly,

"Did you even do the assignment?"

I grin, wide, knowing my answer will make her go nuts,

"Of course not, I told her yesterday that I had family business to attend to and wasn't able to complete it, but, since we are partners, I told her you would do it for me, and we would share the mark, _as a combined effort_ ,"

Her jaw drops and she starts shaking her head in horror, eyes wide, her laugh turning to hysterics, I soak in the reaction with a small amount of glory,

"No, I am not sharing this mark with you, I do not do work for other students _you bastard_ ,"

Trelawney's heels hit the floor in a quiet pattern, "Is this your tables work?"

And she gives me one last sour look and then smiles, fake and false,

" _Of course it is Professor_."

And I grab it from her, "One second,"

And erase the last two stars and make them closer, by two millimetres,

"Now it is perfect, _don't you think Thorne?"_

It was the first time I said her last name out loud, and she looked startled, as did I, the way it rolled off of my tongue, the way it seemed to hang in the air between us,

But Trelawney took it and went on her way, continuing to pick up the rest of the students work.

She is quiet for a moment, and then she looks at me, her gaze piercing but I don't quake beneath it, instead I raise my chin to meet it.

"We should make a schedule for the project that can work with our prefect sessions"

I nod, "And around Quidditch ty-outs and matches…"'

She nods with me, "Right, so lunch time, every day is free for me,"

I smile, not a grin, more mature, less reckless, she notices the change, and her lips upturn in response, I answer her, continuing the semi civilised conversation,

"Fridays we have practice, along with every other Monday, but we can also meet in the morning, before classes,"

She glances down, at her hands folded neatly on her lap,

"I am busy on Tuesday mornings, but yeah,"

I give her a quizzical look, "What are you doing on Tuesday mornings that is so secret?"

She glances up at me, her eyes big, guarded again,

"I spend the hours before light with Scorp; it's no secret Potter,"

I watch the way her eyes watch me, and I wonder why she thinks I will react badly,

"I have nothing against the Malfoys, I'm not my father, I have no grudge,"

She looks away, "I'm not blind, you two don't get a long,"

The smile slips and she watches it, I remember Scorpius wanting to talk to Albus at the end of the summer, it was the last day, just before we got on that train, got here. It had been after the long time that Albus had waited, for a response to that letter he had sent in the mail, I remember how Scorpius knocked on the front door, and how I answered it, and how I told him to leave, how I raised my chin and said get out, because Albus couldn't handle heart break twice, and the minute that Scorpius Malfoy found time, that time wasn't enough, Albus deserved the world on a silver platter, he deserved someone who would die for him, who spend every second with him if necessary, so I told him to leave, and he wrote Albus and he told him, he said that I was at his house, that I saw his mom, that I knew why, and that he wants to be friends too, but he can't be friends with someone who has a brother who won't let him out of his sight, and Albus hasn't said a word to me since, sacrifice, so yes Scorpius Malfoy and I aren't on speaking terms, but that doesn't' mean we won't talk, we will talk today, and we will be honest, in fact, very honest.

I force a chuckle, yet again,

"Maybe you are blind, because class has started _Miss Chatter Box_ "

She watches me, eyes searching, but she isn't done, she ignores my jab and keeps going, ploughing on,

"He's my friend; you don't know him like I do,"

And the fake laughter stops, and my eyes search hers, "I know quite a bit about your silver boy, I know his mom was sick this summer and that he lied to you about it,"

She stares at me, eyes wide, but I don't stop, I don't know why I don't stop, I don't know why I keep talking, I keep saying, it may be because the eyes are still watching, and I feel overwhelmed, or I want to win her over, and show her that he isn't all he seems, but I keep saying, and saying, and I lose that control that I always seem to have,

"Did you know what got her sick? That it was a forgotten one, Rose, one of the people that my dad is taking the memories of, did you know that Rose?"

She stares at me and she starts shaking her head, I am mocking her but the hurt in her eyes is real, and I wonder why she is so hurt, so surprised, so horrified, I wonder what makes her care so much about the monsters, what makes her so empathetic, I find it honourable, fascinating,

"No, you're a liar; _you're a dirty liar_ ,"

I open my mouth to continue to ruin it, to tell her how he voted, but she stops me and I can't help but thank merlin that she did, that she stopped me from ruining everything,

"Stop it, don't say another word, you have _no right, James bloody Potter_ , you think you can ruin and fix people's lives whenever you see fit? Well not mine _, so shut the hell up,"_

And she's gone, out of the classroom, down the stairs, slamming the door behind her. I watch her leave, and again all eyes are on me, I don't think they ever left, and her friends, they half way stand from their chairs, looking at me with confused eyes, V stands up fully, ready to run after her, everyone is wondering what I said, including Trelawney, she watches me as well, but her eyes are knowing as if she can see my discomfort, my regret,

I clear my throat in the silence,

"She was feeling sick to the stomach; I'll go check on her, if that's okay Professor…"

She nods and murmurs something else but I don't hear it, I am already out the door, down the ladder, and running, following the sound of her retreating footsteps. V watches me go, shaking her head, she doesn't think it's right, she doesn't think I should follow her.

I run to catch up to her; she is walking fast, hands crossed over her chest, head bowed, she must hear me coming because she speeds up, I jog behind her, the corridor is empty, except for the on looking portraits.

"Are you crying?"

She laughs, anger flashing form her eyes as she turns and looks me in the eyes,

"I am not _four_ Potter; I am also not interested in what you have to say to me, _you have said enough_ ,"

I grab onto her arm, and turn her to face me, eyes searching her face, I can feel her cold skin beneath the light fabric of her long sleeved blouse, and I pause, I can also feel a cut, the ridge of a scar, no, I must be wrong, mistaken, I don't know her , I don't apologise but I do watch her,

"His mom is okay, she's okay and its family business don't stick your hands in it, they'll get lost,"

It is a warning, but she doesn't look like she will heed it. She turns her head away, and then back, and stares at me, her eyes glaring into mine,

"Potter, do the Malfoys have a say in the vote?"

I am quiet; she isn't asking me if Draco does, she is asking me a different question, her eyes tell me she wants to know if he does, if Scorpius Malfoy does. And my dad's voice rings in my ears, over and over _, "Someone else at Hogwarts…"_

And my mouth goes dry, I can't tell her, there is something in her eyes, it is as if she understands the Forgotten Ones as if she respects them, and she will kill him if I say yes, and I put on an act, and I hide beneath a mask of honesty, I hide within a lie of falsified truth, and I make my eyes steady, my hands strong, my skin warm, my lips parted, honest, truthful, I try to look stripped down, and human,

"No one at Hogwarts has a vote, unless you are over the legal age of an adult, you know that"

She searches my face, just as I searched hers, she wants to know if I am telling the truth, and I see relief, she is relieved, she thinks I am telling the truth, she believes it, and some part of me wanted her to think I was lying to tell me to tell her the truth, to see through the act, but she doesn't and she turns to go, but I stop her one last time, I stop her with my voice,

"He's a good person, there aren't a lot of them Rose, hold onto the good ones…"

She looks down, studying the floor; she does that a lot when she is uncomfortable,

"Me and him, we don't get a long because of Albus, I'm protective of the people I love, and Albus is one of the few I do, Albus is already struggling with so much, has to handle so much, he isn't good with the crowds, it'll be worse if he goes with Malfoy, you know that,"

She doesn't look back at me, the ground seems to fascinate her, she hears me though, and I see her shoulders relax, and she answers me without looking at me, but I feel as if she recognises my gaze,

"He is a good person, and James, so is your dad… These rumours about the beasts that crawl the streets, that hunt the chosen one, if they are poisoning people, maybe their minds deserve to be whipped?"

She says it like a question, she is asking me, and in a moment like this, I wonder why she cares so much about the world, about the Forgotten Ones, about the laws, shouldn't she be like the rest, pretending it isn't real, it isn't happening, enjoying being a kid? And I answer for her, I answer her question, though I don't know the true answer, but I try to give her something to hold onto,

"There rumours Rose, there are no beasts, there are humans, people like you and me, that have a switch, a spell that seems to make them soldiers, but no one deserves to be erased from this world Rose, no matter how bad, or how cruel…"

She is quiet, but she listens to my every word,

"Sometimes we want to cower and hide behind a law, or a spell, but that doesn't make us brave, we have to face it, head on…"

She licks her lips, her tongue mesmerising,

"Scorpius' mom, she got mixed up in the wrong business, with the wrong people, but she is okay now, and she is better, which means that she is strong, and Scorpius is too, but he needs you by his side to be strong, he needs a friend that is just as good as him, a reminder to be that good,"

She nods and then she walks away, leaving me behind watching her retreating figure with longing eyes. Her hair swings back and forth, her books clutched to her chest, and she is young, but not naive, she is strong, and she will be there for him, of course she will.

The Forgotten Ones rose a few months ago. We started noticing attacks, muggles attacking wizards with magic, black magic, that hadn't been used since the war. Some spells we didn't even know. The magic was twisted, and the people doing it, they were orphans. Orphans from muggle orphanages all over the world. The attacks started to become more regular, and they were unpredictable, unexpected, and then the snakes and the green skulls started appearing in the sky, we were scared, unsure, and in these skulls the snakes were dead. We thought it was death eaters, acting out, so we passed a couple laws, but we were wrong. And the attacks started becoming more regular, but they never killed anybody, they left a mark, carved into the arms of these victims, was a phrase that I wondered about, until my father told me, "Bound by blood…"

Voldemort had left a footprint, just in case he didn't win the war, he left an army, a symbol, a reminder. Once, long ago, that leader was a boy, an orphan, named Tom Riddle, a child, and he had been left, and he had climbed out of that gutter, with Dumbledore's help, so he wanted to be that great wizard to bring them out of the grave yard they were born into, the life that led nowhere. He made a spell, a curse, and he placed it over merlin knows how many, and when they turn seventeen, become adults, he takes their soul, or at least someone does. And they get commands, orders, and they are wired to love the power, to crave it.

We called them the Forgotten Ones because no one knew they existed, no one cared, and where they went, there was not a trace left behind, they looked just like you and me, in the crowd, just another blank face. We kept it from the press as best we can, and when it did reach the news, we showed them that we were taking care of it, dealing with it, but we were filthy liars, we had no idea who they were, and we still don't. We don't understand how they become the way they are, or how Voldemort did it.

The corridor is empty, no eyes, no one watching, and she is gone, with her questions, I remember the scar I felt, the cut, and I realise with a small amount of horror that it was fingernail marks, the small crescent forms of nails, and I swallow hard. What life must she have to have flaws like that inflected?

The world's eyes are closed behind the doors, the walls, and I take a deep breath. Another day, another week, and a new year, tomorrow and yesterday, along with today is all one blur, with fleeting moments of still. And we are beginning this year, a rocky start but somehow perfect, and who knows what the year will bring, hell or heaven, dreams or nightmares, break ups, and miss haps, spells and curses, death and disaster, happiness and grief and maybe, the wind will carry in a certain Rose BlackThorne. Or maybe the wind that soars through the air, in the sky that I love to get lost in, will have love, or a glimmer of that.

And scars and nail marks, and other mysteries not yet solved, will come to light in the weeks to come, and the long nights with those empty stars. I watch her leave and I stand there, thoughts flying in that wind that just blew her away. And though she is gone, something blooms inside me, something I don't understand just yet, and I rather understand it all.

And then a voice breaks the still, icy and guarded. His hair is as white as snow, and he watches me, eyes waiting for my response, a pair of eyes as cold as ice, as light as the sky,

"Ready to talk business James?"

The tic in my jaw begins, and my eyes burn,

"Yes, you've got a lot of explaining to do Malfoy; the question is are you ready?"

He narrows his eyes, and then he laughs, hysteric, loud, angry

"Very amusing Potter, I didn't see you at the meeting,"

I mock his laughter,

"I wasn't invited,"

He nods, smirking,

"That must be something new for you, not being invited,"

I tilt my head to the side,

"You'd know, wouldn't you Malfoy?"

He's quiet eyes waiting, and I don't stop there,

"But you were at the table, and you voted, didn't you? It's funny I was just talking to your girlfriend, she found that very interesting…"

His eyes are filled with fear,

"You wouldn't dare"

His smirk is gone, and now I'm the one smirking,

"I wouldn't? She's quite pretty; maybe I'll make her my next conquest,"

"Don't you dare!"

His voice is loud in the silence, and I am not done, so I continue,

"Maybe I already have dared…."


	10. Tuesday Blues

~Rose's POV~

10\. Tuesday blues

"When I got my letter to come to Hogwarts I was so proud of myself, I was also mystified, and living in a world without magic I did not understand the importance, the rare of the rare selection that was me. Because in a world like this, where Hogwarts is getting enrolments from hundreds of countries, there is less room for the teaching of the muggle born. This is an unfair custom, that if we do not take action now, what…"

I pause, running a hand through my hair, tangled and long, loose for once, hanging around me, in the sunset it looks like gold, like copper and bronze. It has gentle waves from the braid Roxy did for me during lunch; she has always been good at the creative things, using her hands to make small delicate creations, now _that_ mystifies me.

I study the crumpled sheet of parchment, a speech for next week, the beginning of the prefect rounds, and the council meetings where we hear what the students would like to change within Hogwarts for the upcoming year. I have always liked to pretend that I have my life super together, but in moments like this, surrounded by my friends, who are listening to me rehearse the same bloody speech from the 99th thousandth time, I feel hopeless.

V interjects, stretching as she stands from my bed, and walks over, the blue t-shirt hanging down to her knees, swallowing her whole, taking the paper from my hand and quickly glancing it over, lip caught between her teeth as she studies it. Finally telling me her thoughts, voice heavy with exhaustion, and exasperation, she has heard it far too many times to not know what needs to be changed,

"The word 'custom' doesn't work, and 'action' sounds a lot like 'rebellion' and 'ungrateful'"

I snatch the paper back, hitting her on the top of the head with it, and I reread the sentence, replaying the words, and twisting them around in my head,

"Ughhh, _fine,_ what do you suggest I change it to?"

She flops onto the bed, shaking her head in exhaustion, the bed a dip, waking up Dom, who promptly pushes her off, V screams as she hits the floor with a loud plop causing Lucy to roar with laughter and Dom to grumble explicates as she rolls onto her stomach, putting my pillow over her head and ears.

Roxy walks over, placing her hands on my shoulders and rubbing them, the message may be good, but the stress and nots of dress stay the same. Roxy's voice is soothing, soft and kind, friendly,

"I suggest we take a break, and come back to this tomorrow…"

I push her hands off and spin around, giving her puppy eyes, and going to the desk and grabbing a quill, scribbling down synonyms for custom, and putting them into the sentence, my mind working a step ahead of me, and my fingers ten steps behind me,

"It is an unfair habit, no, unfair tradition, unfair routine, way, ritual, ughhh!"

I drop the quill, it spins through the floor, head over heels, slipping past my fingertips and heading for the floor, letting it hit the floor, and I throw down the paper, watching it flutter after the quill towards the same ground, taking its time, I spin away from the work, falling back onto my bed, hair fanning out around me, Lucy's voice breaks through my anger and utter frustration, soft and a reminder of what Monday nights should be, whispering to each other about the latest gossip and drama taking place in school, me and V arguing on the transformation of human to animal, and if it would hurt, daring each other to go ask Professor McGonagall if it would. Her voice is sing-song as she speaks,

"Listen I'll take the bloody speech to James tomorrow at breakfast, he'll know what to change it too, and everything will be _fine_ Rose,"

I sit up, so fast I feel as if I could have broken my neck, my eyes wide with horror, regaining my composure; I shake my head repeatedly,

" **NO!** Everything will _not_ be fine, and it will be _much worse_ if Potter sees the _bloody thing_ , then he will know I'm not brilliant and, _and_ ,"

Roxy arches her eyebrows, curious as always,

"And? It's not like his opinion of you has ever mattered before? _What's changed_?"

My eyes bulge even wider, and Lucy joins in, crossing her arms over her chest, raising a single eyebrow,

"Yeah Rose? Since when are you so insecure about yourself, or what some random guy thinks?"

V cuts across Lucy, shooting me a 'you owe me one' look,

"She isn't insecure, she's practical, there's a difference, and James can be a snob,"

I still don't have a reply, so Rox takes another stab at getting me to speak, her eyes dancing with mischief, pulling out all her tactics,

"And Rose would know all about how he can be a snob, _right?"_

I pause, cheeks rosy, and change the topic, ignoring the back and forth conversation that just took place, how did James always seem to be finding his way into our conversations, since when did we care? My answer is curt, but jokey and dripping with sarcasm as well,

"It's late, you all should go back to your dorm, prefect patrols may not have started but teachers are still on the lookout _you lot_ ,"

Dom grumbles, throwing the pillow covering her face at me, her voice is muffled from sleep and exhaustion,

"Then let's spend the night? Ughh, I don't even have the energy to walk literally anywhere…"

I giggle, and punch her in the side, causing another loud groan to ring through the room,

"You can't stay 'cause I have to see Scorp in the morning…"

Lucy giggles, her eyes suggestive, batting her eyelashes, mocking me,

"She has to see Scorp Dom, remember tomorrows _Tuesday,_ "

I take the pillow Dom threw at me and hit Lucy with it, smiling back at her wide, electric grin,

"That is so not fair, and it's not like we are going to _make out or anything_ , it's just to talk, and have fun... That's _all!"_

Roxy shakes her head, climbing on the bed with us, causing it to dip lower,

"Scorpius and you is _old news_ , how about you and _my cousin_ Rose? I heard he's switching up the Quidditch schedule so you two can do your cuddly divination project, all alone in the evenings with romantic candle light, and the stars looking down, and his hands, and his eyes, and ohhh!"

I can feel the blush spreading like a wild fire over my already hot skin, and faint a blow to the heart, shaking my head at her, but still smiling, it seems almost impossible not to,

 _"_ _Shut the bloody up you git!"_

She giggles, throwing her head back, and Lucy joins in, I can hear Dom chuckle as well, V simply snorts,

I can't help but giggle with them, quiet, trying not to wake up the rest of the dorm. And I play over her words in my head, as they create an image, James and I alone, his arms around my waist, his eyes staring down at me, the stars causing the darkness to be as warm as my blush, as his smile, as the fire burning between us, I can almost touch the image, but before I can a word rings out to me, a word that Roxy said 'switching' and then 'schedule' and then 'me',

"Wait, he changed up your Quidditch schedule for _me?_ "

Roxy stops and raises her eyebrows, her voice is softer, more mystified, as if she hadn't thought about how weird that is as well, she answers me,

"You didn't know?"

My heart flutters, and I try to stop the raising of my pulse, the way my breath caught, the way my lips part,

"No… I didn't…"

She lowers her voice, hoping that the rest of the Ravenclaw dorm who has been listening to our every word, will not hear, she seems excited to tell me, and I can't help but listen to her every word, as she whispers it like a secret in the candle lit dark,

"He said to me at dinner today that the schedule will switch 'cause someone is hard to please. And I asked who,"

I can feel my mind imagining his silky voice, the scent of coffee, and caramel, the undertone of after shave, the way his eyes will welcome me and draw me in, the way his lips trace every letter, and crack into a smile worth gold, she continues,

"And I asked who, and he said, "The Rose that recently became a Thorne in my side"…."

I scoff, throwing my hair over my shoulder,

"I AM so not a Thorne in _his_ side, he like knows _nothing about_ me, _at all,"_

Lucy elbows me in the side, causing me too look her way, her eyes dance at me, mocking me,

"Is that a blush I see? Is just the thought of our cousin causing you to get all _hot and bothered?"_

I hit her again with the pillow, pushing her off the bed, and continuing to attack her, but that is my only answer.

And soon they leave, out the door, singing bad music, and dragging a half dead Dominique Weasley behind them, falling down the stairs with a shriek, but calling back, "Were okay!"

I watch them stumble out of the portrait hole, crashing into it, and I close the door, blowing the candle out, and glancing one last time at my speech in disappointment,

The bed is warm, but not as warm as he is, no, stop it Rose, what are you thinking?

V's voice floats over to me, soft, apologetic,

"I wanted to say sorry…"

I turn over onto my side, hair slipping over my face, and I look through the drapes at her sleeping form, but her eyes are half open, watching me back, honest, stripped down,

"About what V?"

She sighs, turning onto her back, looking at the ceiling above us, the moon peaks into the room bathing her in its beautiful light,

"About telling James about your dream, how you said his name…"

I'm silent, I had hardly remembered she had, it seems like years ago, but I remember it clearly now, it hadn't hurt me, annoyed, yes, but they have lived within each other's lives, and me and her may be best friends but they're related…

"Don't…."

She shakes her head, sitting up; I can see the outline of her shadow,

"No, Rose let me finish…"

A pause, and in the silence I wonder if I have fallen asleep, but her voice is still coming from far away,

"That was pretty crappy of me…"

I open my eyes, I had hardly noticed they were closed, and I shake my head,

"It wasn't, you guys are close, I know that, V, I'm not stupid,"

She shakes her head again, titling it back, her chin pointing to the heavens, hair slipping onto her back,

"He may be my blood relative, but you are my sister, always Rose and I know you don't like him, not like that, and you don't like your life changing, or people coming into it without you letting them in, and I think it's partially my fault he has such an interest."

I lift my head a little, tilting it to the side in curiosity,

"What do you mean V? What did you say to him about me?"

She lies back down; I can hear the blankets move as she turns to face me on her side again, her eyes glowing in the darkness,

"Over the summer, him and I got closer, and I started telling him about you, about how we met, and how you're so very funny, I even shared a couple memories with him, of us on the beach, when we went to the candy shop in muggle London and stole those 5 pound lolly pops…."

She pauses, and I can feel my heart racing, I hadn't shared those moments with anyone, because they were ours, and I felt just a little betrayed, but more than I felt betrayed I felt relieved, relieved she told me, V was always honest, sometimes it took her time, but she would tell me anything, even if she knew it would hurt us, because she knew honesty was the only policy,

"And I shouldn't have, but the more I told him, the more he asked…. And the quicker I answered,"

I roll over onto my back, looking at the same ceiling she was inspecting moments ago,

"So he didn't just suddenly notice me… Who am I to think he would? I'm an invisible, I've always been…"

She shakes her head, scooting closer, so that she is on the edge of her bed, peering into mine,

"No Rose, what I'm saying is he wanted to get to know you, and at first I thought it was because you and I were friends and I needed his approval but I don't think that was it, I think he wanted to know what you were like,"

I'm silent, and in the still between us she knows I won't answer, and for this time, this moment, in this silence I welcome the still and then she wraps her arms around herself, as my eyes drift close, and her voice is so quiet I barley hear her,

"Am I forgiven?"

The silence stretches on,

"Always"

The dream is a nightmare, they are coming for me, the sky has no stars, their eyes have no mercy, and they know my secret, and they have come to hurt me, to take me, and I am running, my feet pounding as fast as my heart beat, the pulse that seems to speed me forward in desperation, eyes as wide as the world that runs by beneath me. And there he is, behind me, chasing me, running me like a wild animal. His hair is as white as ice, his eyes as clear as glass, and I want to scream, to run, to hide. But instead I stop eyes connecting with his skidding to a halt, breathing hard, my irises wide, my heart in my throat. And he stops as well, and he and I watch each other, eyes guarded scared, scars right in front of our eyes, right there for the world to see. And I want to tell him, to tell him so I do...

"Scorp it's me, I couldn't hurt anyone, I'm on your side, our side…."

He is shaking, his hands buried in black robes, in darkness,

"I don't know you…"

And I step towards him, my footstep soft in a still that can't be broken, and then hands, strong hands, soft, callused and yet warm, so warm it was like a fire, and they are pulling me away, they are leading me away from him, and I want them to let me go, to let me fix this, but they weaken me, they always weaken me, and I turn hitting him hard, my hands balled in fists, small, but hateful, and I look up rage meeting rage, and I forget the boy I left behind with the silver eyes, and all I see is gold.

The grass brushes against my legs, slightly damp with moisture from the night, the dew drops are clear, clinging to each leaf, each strand, like tear droplets that shine in the morning dawn, but in this night they are awaiting the light, holding their breath until it shines down onto them, the stars shine is not enough, nor the moons rays, so they await the sun. The shrubs they are high, growing around my waist, as if trying to engulf me and pull me into the soil with them, they look like roots, and I am the leaves.

The world is silent; the night sky is large over me, seeming utterly endless, as it runs for as far as I can see in all directions. The forest looms before me, the trees rise to that sky, brushing the heavens, as if they were hands reaching from hell. The darkness seems to cling to those trees, and in the darkness I can feel the eyes, the ears, the silence waiting to be broken. There is a million reasons for its fateful name, Forbidden after all, for what haunts behind those trees, and runs on those grounds And I am quiet as I creep through the world, the quiet rustling of each green strand slipping over my skin, grazing my flesh, tickling me, but I am silent, because I cannot even force a laugh.

Last night I stayed up and I waited for sleep to come, I waited to welcome it, but with it came nightmares from the deep, that plagued me almost endlessly, and I was overwhelmed, with everything I had done in this moment, I was overwhelmed. There was a still last night, tonight that caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand, and the same dream I had before in that little bed, in that little hospital wing came back, they were wizards, their clothes were the same, their wands outstretched, and I was waiting for them to take my memories, to take my mind away. But it never happened; I always woke up before it did, with a cold sweat and tears of regret. I am an orphan, and as an orphan there is a fear, a fear of being found, a fear of being one.

I stop and I let the wind run through my hair, it is early, around 4 in the morning, the suns light not yet peaking over that horizon and climbing in that sky, still sleeping in the stars, that blanket above us. The darkness I welcome, it hides the fear, the way my heart pounds in my ears, and the way I know I won't be able to look him in the eye.

He sits with his back to me, his hair standing out, like a star that hangs in the sky, in that night. And I slowly approach him, feet soft on the ground, eyes searching, analysing his posture, the slope of each muscle, of each dip and curve. He straightens his spine and glances over his shoulder when he hears the grass whisper against my legs.

"Rose, you're late…"

His voice is soft, like music, but today it sounds like the guitar isn't tuned,

"I couldn't sleep last night,"

My voice is careful, almost afraid, and he notices the soft undertone of curiosity, and tilts his head, then he pats the ground next to him, gesturing for me to come sit, but I stay standing, as far as I can, as if ready to bolt,

"I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking…. What if I am one?"

He stops patting the ground and watches me with those silver eyes, he doesn't understand, but he doesn't pretend to, he cares, and he watches me, a fear shadowing his face as it shadows mine, and I see resentment, as if I am despicable, but it goes so quickly as if never there, and he looks away, at the stars, and his voice is timid, cowardly,

"You're too good to be one…"

But there is an uncertainty, as if we are both too young to know, to understand, and I wonder if I was one, if I was one would he tell his father not to vote, would he love me still, would we be friends? So I don't stop, I need to know, I need someone to say that you are fine, to reassure me,

"Scorp, what if when I turn seventeen, I go and I start hurting people, what if I'm cursed?"

He doesn't have a response, he just sits and watches me with those eyes, his back now ridged, the wind feels cold, dangerous. And the darkness of this night seems to hide the words we share. This darkness used to be ours, every Tuesday we would sit here, heads thrown back in laughter, tears of joy clear and transparent, the shadows watched us but they didn't hide us from each other as they do now. And in this darkness it is as if another pair of eyes, watches on, spectating,

"I am so afraid that I will be that monster, and I don't know what I would do if I was…"

My voice is broken, my arms automatically wrap around my small form, holding me together. And I keep going, and so he watches me, trying to think of what to say, trying to form some way of telling me it will be okay,

"I kept thinking, would I want them to erase my memory?"

He looks away, eyes full of an emotion I can't place, it almost looks like guilt, but the lighting must be wrong, I must not have seen right,

"And then I think about how much I want them to find a cure, or something to fix me,"

My voice is broken, staying broken, cracked, he still says nothing, he fears my words, hell, I fear my words, the world does, and that is why no one knows who I am, no one because who knows what they might think, and then after a small pause he speaks, clearing his throat as he does, as if that will make the words come easier,

"You don't need to be fixed because you aren't broken…"

His voice sounds like a violin, each word plucked on each string, lining a scale, that seems to sing like a falcon in the darkness, a warning call ,but I push onwards, always onwards,

"Scorp, what happened to your mother?"

He is silent for quite some time, we both are, the silence seems to stretch on for hours, haunting in the still and with the minutes that slide by, the sun peaks over the horizon, and begins to awake, stretching its rays as it begins to fly high, slowly turning the sky from black to whites, blues, greens and purples. The time seems to sing a sad song, and I wait for him to answer, his head bowed and then he looks up and he raises his eyes to meet mine, and he blinks heavily,

"She got sick Rose, the doctors didn't know what it was, but she's better now, Rose, _she's okay_ ,"

I close my eyes and I am taken a day ago, hours flashing by in my mind to the dim lighted corridor, the warm hand, the hazel eyes that held a warning, going from immature to mature in a split second, from a child to an adult, and I can still hear the way the words hit me like bullets, the way his voice didn't sound real, it was faraway, so distant if I wanted to, if I could I would ignore it, but I don't, I listen, and I hear James' voice in my head, his words ringing, singing a broken song, telling me a truth, a lie, an honest that made me want to scream, to cry out, _"It was a forgotten one, Rose…"_

But my eyes don't show the pain of his words, because they are closed, they are shut, shutting him out, the world out, and I know that I can't ask him, I can't ask him if he hates me, me the orphan he didn't spend the summer with because his mum got sick with someone like me, from someone I might be or become. And we keep reassuring ourselves to be honest, to be truthful, to let our hearts not soar, but the moment his answer hits me, I know he won't tell me, that I can't make him, that he doesn't want to hurt me, doesn't want to hate me. So that is why the still is so terrifying, that is why the still rings in my ears.

The silence is broken by the sound of shouts, happy cries, the voices I recognise as Roxy, Lucy, a grumbling Dom, Prewett, Fred, and the tromp of their feet as they begin to make formation, running, getting ready for their practice sessions no doubt, though Potter said that they didn't have them on Tuesday… Huh…

And their shouts from the Quidditch field are loud, clear, and happy, when have they ever been sad? There it is, and the still is gone, and Potter, loud over the rest, his voice sounds like an orchestra while Scorpius' sounds like a single string, a single, steady note, plucked, cracked, honest, no, Potter sounds like a thunderstorm, a thousand instruments playing every tune, every note, trying everything new, pushing the limit, it is making music, and I can hear his voice roaring, above, through me,

"Alright, so we are adding Tuesday mornings to our schedule okay?!"

There is a chorus of responses and groans, and he laughs, I can almost see with my eyes closed the way his eyes would crinkle, the way his hair would fall back as his head fell, the way the dawning light would make him look like a candle flame, how each graceful step would trace a memory worth everything, a memory that's cost I couldn't pay for, the way he would run backwards encouraging them to follow, the way his eyes would follow every movement they made, smart behind the façade, I shake my head, horror painting my face, and the image is gone as fast as it comes, no, I wasn't thinking of Potter, not like that, I was thinking of perfection, perfection which no one can reach, not even him. Not even his image.

I close the world off, the sound of the Quidditch team, the sound of my heart, the way it feels like I can't breath and so I focus on my breathing, in and out, the steady way the air slips past my lips, over each curve, Scorpius breaks the silence, his eyes are watching me from so far away, and he is wondering why I ask, he is wondering and so am I, I am wondering what the point was, my eyes stay squeezed shut, blocking, attempting, hiding in my head, his voice is soft, as if he doesn't want them to know we are here,

"You know what happened to my mom Rose, you _always_ have known…"

And they fly open, looking at him, and the smile is forced, cracked at the edges, as if it will break,

"Yeah I know, I can't help but think it must have been so hard for you,"

He nods quietly, his eyes following every movement I make, calculating each turn, each blink, each breath, but they don't analyse, they admire, they are shy, not direct, not like… My voice sounds like air, caught in the wind,

"Scorpius? You do know you can tell me anything…?"

He watches me, our eyes only glancing at each other, afraid we both will admit our truths, my voice is so small, very tiny, very timid, I am shy like his gaze, like his heart,

 _"_ _Right?"_

He ducks his head, hiding the way his heart is caught in his throat, and in my head I am chanting, tell me, over and over, begging him, please, please _, please_ , tell me James Potter is wrong, tell me he is a liar, tell me, Scorp tell me, say that your mom wasn't sick because of it, because of them….

His smile is broken, like mine, and each word calms my breath,

"Of course, you're a very understanding person BlackThorne,"

I watch him, and I go to walk away, to leave it all behind but he calls out,

"Rose, what did James tell you?"

And I stop, my breath quick and I close my eyes as if blocking out the universe, not just the world this time, and the Quidditch field no longer feels far away, and I can hear the rush of wind slipping past the brooms, and his never ending laughter, spontaneous, who? Only two weeks ago I would have laughed if someone asked me that, but now I feel a fear, a dread that I do know to whom the name belongs to. But for once, I pretend.

 _"_ _James who?"_

He stands; I can hear the rustle of his clothing, the way each fall of his foot crushes the damp grass beneath it, at a steady pace,

"You know who Rose, he said he talked to you, that he told you things…?"

And my eyes flutter shut, just for a moment, and they flash back to the hallway, the warmth of his touch, the way he grabbed my arm, the honest in his eyes, the earnest in his voice, the calm in the storm, the lack of laughter in those eyes…. _"Hold onto the good ones…"_ When did he become so wise, I wonder what book he took that from, I wonder which parent told him it when he was growing up, I wonder… And then my eyes open,

"No one told me anything, and who would, Scorp, _who?"_

He narrows his eyes the smallest of fractions then relaxes them, and steps closer, we are parallel, face to face, no more hiding, no more pretending, no more glancing,

"Potter, what did he tell you?"

His hand is heavy on my shoulder, turning me to face him, I can feel his fingers raise my chin, we are centimetres apart, and it feels like miles, like air, like nothing, and yet a part of me wants him closer,

"He told me you have secrets, but he doesn't know mine Scorp, only you…"

His hands pull me closer, his breath smells like mint, like ice, cold on my skin,

"Rose, I won't tell, I wouldn't but you have to trust me, you have your secrets too, sometimes you are so far away, I wonder what you've seen, what the scars are from, and you don't' tell me do you?"

I shake my head, hair falling from my face, head upturned, arms wrapped around his waist, the green cloth is soft, but cold, everything seems too cold, too detached, not raw, not real, fake, as if a dream that I cannot place, as if a snow flake melting in my hand, and I am watching it disappear.

He continues, wanting to convince me, wanting me on his side, and I want to be on his side too, I do, I really do,

"Why don't you tell me?"

I whisper into the still, I whisper up to him,

 _"_ _Because somethings are better not known…"_

I can feel him nod, "Somethings are better not known…"

My eyes blink shut, just for a second, a breathe, considering what I do next, what I say next, what, what, and then I open my eyes and look into his, we are far too close for friends, and sometimes, in moments like this I wish we were more than that, more than just _this…_

I remember the first time he said Albus Potter was beautiful, the way he watched him from our compartment on that train, the way his eyes seemed to smile, the way his cheeks became rosy, I remember the way my heart sank, and the way I smiled and said, "He's not really my type Scorp, remember, we don't mess with the Potters!?"

But he had shaken his head, and he had said, "Isn't he lovely…." Maybe then I should have given up on that little bit of hope that he was there but he became a brother, a friend, nothing more, and sometimes that space between us was the only thing keeping us together, the secrets keeping us interested, the web wanting us to unspin but unable to, too caught up in everything…

Overtime, slowly, we got closer, but never this close, never with our eyes searching each other's, never like this, he loves me and I love him and some days it is that simple, and other days everything is so complicated, so messed up, I love him, I always have, as a brother, as a friend, and in moments like this, more, I love him more, he is all I have ever known, and he is reaching for me, but he doesn't have to reach far because he already has me, caught in his arms…

And the world is forgotten, and I am his, and the secrets between us are us, and it is all so messy, and one step closer is catastrophe, and neither of us are brave enough, have a back bone, have the strength, we stand parted and one, eyes on each other's, and wonder as we absorb every detail we already know by heart, and my heart is beating, I can hear it, the boom is no longer constant, but rapid, broken, repeated, crashed,

His breath is warm his arms are real, and I want to lean into them, but the cold seems to freeze me, to bring me down, to make me shiver, and a fear a dread, that these arms are too cold, the skin too pale, the eyes too piercing, and I want to look away, but I can't, and his words capture me again, and again,

"Remember when we first met?"

I can barely nod, but I do, my chest rising and falling with each struggled breath,

"You said to me, it's as simple as just two people who need allies in a battle they don't understand…"

And I smile, radiant, remembering, and my voice is soft, mingling with his,

"It was a quote from one of my favourite books, History through the Ages…."

He nods, and leans closer, his breath with mine; his heart with mine, the space isn't miles anymore,

"The treaty of the giants and the purebloods in the 10th century… Different people, that feared each other, but you can't blame everyone for just a few mistakes…"

My eyes feel wet, with the lack of sleep, the emotions that overflow, he continues, closer and closer,

"You can't blame yourself for the actions of the few, Rose, when you are the few of the extraordinary…"

I laugh soft, and I turn away, away from him, his eyes, his lips, his cold hands, the ice skin,

"Scorp, we are too young to know what extraordinary even means…"

And I leave him there, walking away, hands wrapped around me where his once were….

The classroom is mostly empty, I'm early, always early, the desks with pairs of 2 line the lengthy room, old and rickety, cages hang from the ceiling holding an assortment of animals, mostly muggle in kind, varying in shapes and sizes to be transfigured throughout the week, Professor McGonagall's desk is impressive as always, large and dominant, mahogany and oak, and stretching across the front of the class, organized neatly, with stacks of papers, ink, wands, spells, books, and so on.

The long walls of the room are decorated in ancient bookshelves, with ladders that lead up to them, a definite health hazard, chalk boards blank or filled, charts of spells, bones breaking, the change from life to thing, vocabulary lists, homework and due dates scrawled on long parchments that hang in the air, suspended, the high arch of the ceiling makes the room twice its original size, and the huge windows with dusty red drapes dulling the light, brushing the floor bathe the room in a dull gold.

The large clock ticks on and on in the front, nearing the beginning of class at 8:30 sharp, I sit towards the front, my eyes heavy from lack of sleep, and take my four essays on the changes from bone to plastic using the basic spells, of 1000 words out, placing them on the small desk space. The ink blotches stand out on the papers; I have never been any good at calligraphy or quill work, just another attribute of my muggle nature.

The classroom begins to fill with students of blue and red ties, walking together, alone, heads down, or up and laughing, scratching homework down as they walk, or running because they're late, striding with pride, or murmuring quiet 'excuse me's'.

A bag slams down next to me, breaking my train of thought,

"How was your early rendezvous with a certain blonde Slytherin?"

V's voice is sing song, but dangerously suggestive all the same, telling me I better tell her, or she will think the worse, she is neat and tidy looking, hair up, with a slight dash of make up to hide bags, her eyebrows raised, her lips upturned,

"Normal _, thank you very much_!"

A voice cuts in before she can reply, as another book bag slams down directly behind me, the voice is husky, like an orchestra, though since it is closer you can hear every instrument play, every chord, every note, like velvet, but like a knife as well, it mocks me, always,

"You're _always_ welcome _Black,_ "

I freeze, my mouth hanging open, and whip around, coming face to face with dancing hazel nut orbs, another pair of raised eyebrows, the black hair is pushed back, out of his eyes, slicked back, I can't help but think I prefer it messy, but shake the thought off, my mouth still hanging open as he continues, watching me amused, he likes the power he has over my anger, but only my anger,

"If you keep your mouth open you might just get something caught in it…"

His tone is suggestive, it must run in the family, since it reminds me of V's, and I snap my mouth shut with a loud crack and chuckle with a dark anger, my eyebrows disappearing into my hairline, arching high on my head in utter disbelief, in outrage,

 _"_ _Black?!"_

He smirks, it seems to come naturally, and he leans forward in his chair, biting his lip as he does so, my eyes can't help but dart down to it for a quick moment, and then back up, his eyes are seeming to smoke alive, the movement is graceful, almost like a predator, as he leans in, caging me in his gaze, I hate the way it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up,

" _Your last name?_ Do you not know it?"

He is being sarcastic, it drips off of each syllable, his eyes laughing at me, his lips making fun, knowing how mad I'll get, but I cannot help but fall into his awaiting trap, I swallow hard, and lean closer, lightning bolts shooting from my eyes, closer to him,

"It's BlackThorne you _idgit,_ and Thorne if you must, _but I'd rather you not call me anything…"_

He smiles, the smirk staying planted, his teeth look perfect, but what about him isn't? His voice sets every nerve on fire with utter annoyance, and it keeps going, never getting the hint to shut up, like a wildfire, a disease that I cannot prevent, but I will not let take me, his words play with my heart strings, not that I know, for I am ignorant, and afraid, so I call it anger, as long as I can, anger at him, his voice rings at me, daring me, always one step ahead,

"I don't like Thornes, they hurt, but Black, my middle name is _Serious_ after all, _it means were meant to be, Black_ ,"

I attempt to stop myself from putting my face in my hands, or punching him, but I choose the first, I am unable to not do so, and I burry it in them, my palms are soft, my eyes shut, my head heavy, shaking it back and forth, and when I do reply looking at his winning gaze, it is with utter and complete dislike, as I stutter, the words broken in anger,

"That is the stupidest, the most idiotic, I, _arghhhhh…_!"

I turn front, tossing my hair over my shoulder and huffing in annoyance, how dare he say we were meant to be, does he not have a bloody girlfriend?! V stares at me, for a long moment, eyes analysing me, thinking me over, the way I'm angry, the way I'm mad, sometimes I wonder what she sees,

But Potter isn't done; his hands rest on either side of me, on the seat, as he leans in by my ear,

"That means _together_ we are Serious Black, an incredible individual, at least I think so, don't you V?"

I shoot her an evil look before she can respond, and turn to face him; he easily dodges my flying hair, ducking, and waiting for me to scream at him, and oh do I,

"Since when do you sit this close to the front of the _bloody_ class Potter?"

He grins, his teeth catching the light, like pearls, dimples appearing like magic on both cheeks, his eyes sparkling with dreams, he tilts his head, accenting his sharp jawline, that I swear could cut me,

"Is it so wrong to want to sit closer to my love?"

I close my eyes, hands going to my temples, and rubbing them in soft circles, my heart skipping a beat with every word he says, I wonder why I'm not breathless yet,

" **WE** do not know each other well enough to even begin with the _endearing terms_ , Potter…"

He laughs, throwing his head back, eyes laughing with his lips, I watch the way his tongue licks them, the way his head shakes back and forth, I don't like how his hair doesn't shift with it, but stays in place, a part of me wants to reach up and mess it up, but I wouldn't dare.

His voice is smoky and intoxicating, causing that all too annoying blush to spread through me, and over me,

"There you go again thinking my world revolves around you, I was talking about McGonagall, _darling_ ,"

I feel the blush rising in my cheeks and thank every god, and superior figure that has ever existed in the history of time, that McGonagall walked in at that moment, saving me the embarrassment of making a half-hearted response,

But before the class can even begin he continues,

"I saw you storm inside this morning, did you and Malfoy have an argument?"

I bite my lip in frustration, and I see V out of the corner of my eyes scrunch her eyebrows together in surprise, her eyes saying, 'tell me everything'

But I address Potter first, my voice cold,

"Aren't you curious? And by the way calling a teacher who is ancient ' _love_ ' is utterly appalling,"

He laughs, soft and musical, but dark and mysterious as well,

"You just wish it was you I was saying that to, not her,"

And without turning around I finally have the chance to mock him and take the opportunity in stride,

"Now isn't that a little self-centred James, after all, my world doesn't revolve around you,"

He laughs again; I can feel his breath, warm on the back of my neck, causing a shiver to run down my spine,

"Your right, your world doesn't revolve around me, _yet…"_

My mouth falls open but she begins teaching, picking up the essays as she does, and my response is taken from my lips, literally…

The class seems to speed by, running at full steam, the class goes on and on with his eyes on me, and as soon as the bell rings I am up, and gone, out of the room, and running out the front door, towards that small hut of Hagrid's, for our next class, but before I can get far I feel a hand grab onto mine.

New, different, feminine, delicate, and I spin around, she is tall, elegant, her hair piled high on her head, a dark red, her eyes like lightning bolts, a light blue that seems almost see through, she seems unsure of herself, but at the same time confident, brave, and she obviously knows who I am. Her voice is light, happy, curious, asking a question she already knows the answer to,

"You're Rose?"

I stop, halting, and look down at her hand on mine, and she follows my gaze but doesn't let go,

"Yes, I'm Rose and you are?"

She laughs, soft, it reminds me of Lucy's laugh, hell she looks a lot like Lucy, just shorter, younger by a year, her eyes are just as youthful though, and her voice just as intriguing, in fact her and Lucy could be sisters, just the eyes are different,

She watches the way I watch her and her laughter seems like an echo, her answer brings everything back into focus,

"I'm Rose, _Rose"_

Recognition goes through me,

"Rose Weasley, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

She shakes her head, and leads me my hand still in hers, glancing behind me at her relatives that are following me to our class at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and then starts walking quickly, pulling me with her,

"Walk with me?"

I glance over my shoulder, I can see my friends and Potter walking towards us, and I can't help but want to run away with the strange girl, just to escape those eyes, that voice, the anger it seems to spring,

"Sure…?"

The grass is soft, the wind slipping through my hair, and our steps are quick, escaping the people behind us, no wonder, James is so very protective over who his younger relatives talk to. Her question causes me to pause and rethink for a moment,

"You know Scorpius Malfoy, right?"

My steps halt for just a second, and my heart plummets, she didn't want to talk to me, she wanted me to talk to him. But the smile is pulled on, and my eyes don't shift from hers, my gaze remains steady, and my answer leaves her just the right amount of interested,

"Were close…"

She looks at me, her eyes darting over my face, behind her the sky seems to reflect my insecurity, shining light down on us, but with dark clouds on the horizon, we are walking again, almost jogging away from the raven haired boy who has just noticed us talking, and is walking quickly after us, no doubt wanting to hear what we are saying. Her voice is soft, a whisper,

"How close?"

She wants to know if were together, and there is a part of me that wants to say we are, but I swallow that, and it disappears beneath me,

"Not like that, were friends, that's all…"

She looks relieved, and stops, but I continue walking, and she calls out, causing me to turn,

"You wouldn't mind say something to him about me, would you?"

And a different voice interjects, colder than normal, harsh and demanding, though still warm, still causing me to blush, thank god my back is to him, them, as I quickly turn back to face the forest,

"Who, cousin?"

Rose stutters and glances at my back, and he follows her gaze to me, I can feel their eyes, but she responds quickly,

"Thanks Rose, see you around Jamie, I gotta go to class…"

And so she is gone, I can feel his eyes on me, and they are analysing, calculating, wanting a response, but I start walking again, nose in the air, so he falls into stride next to me,

"Who does my cousin want to date Black?"

I stop and turn and stare at him, today he looks more complex, an emotion I have not seen before crossing over his face, he needs an answer, and he will do anything to get it, that sends a chill through me, a chill of excitement, as if the game is on,

"My name isn't Black, your cousin can date whoever the hell she wants, and it is not your responsibility to ruin anyone else's love life but your miserable own, _understood?_ "

He smirks, and the chill turns into a shiver, but I try not to mirror the look, and continue walking, only watching him out of the corner of my eye, his voice is ironic, sarcastic, and intoxicating, as always,

"I think my love life is rather good, though I appreciate your concern, I let you know if there is a vacancy,"

I literally stop walking and stare at him, and snort loudly,

"No need, I would rather marry McGonagall, and _that_ would actually, probably work out,"

He chuckles and slings a hand over my shoulder, his arm heavy, but warm, I can feel each muscle flex and turn as we walk, the way that the warmth seeps from his skin to mine, the way I try not to lean into the simple touch, the way his hand is strong and the strength in each muscle amazes me, I want to touch it, but instead I brush his arm off, shrugging it off,

"And as well, you shouldn't have changed the Quidditch schedule around for divination class…"

He looks down at me, eyes sincere, golden, like two unearthly jewels that I have never seen before, there is a candle lit in each one that burns and calls me, seeming to want me to get closer, seeming to make me step closer, I can see the flicker of uncertainty, the small fear of honesty, but over that comes the utter bravery, and his words light every part a flame, so that I am burning for him, burning by him,

"I didn't change it for divination I changed it for you…"

I can't seem to blink, to look away, and neither can he, and so we watch each other, and he continues, his words like silk, but heavy like velvet, rich and so rare and calming that all at once they are a sliver of heaven,

"And I don't do things like that for just anyone…"

I lick my lips, and I see him watch the simple movement, my voice is soft, I hardly realize that we stopped walking,

"James, since when am I not anyone?"

He steps closer,

"You're not anyone, you're Rose…"


	11. The Stars and him and I

~Rose's POV~

Chapter 11: The stars and him and I

"Where are you going?"

V's voice is interested, it comes from her bed, where she lays surrounded in open books, parchment and finished quills, a cup of cold coffee sits on top of a pillow, perched precariously.

"I have a project to do…."

She arches an eyebrow, and glances at her watch, eyes daring me to tell her the truth,

"At this time?"

I giggle, and grab my book bag, slinging it over my left shoulder and shake my head,

"I thought we already established that you aren't my mother,"

She giggles back and gets out of bed, her hair a rat nest, and as a true friend, I can't help but appreciate how relaxed she looks. Her arms cross over her chest and she shakes her head again and again,

"Someone's gotta be your mother _crazy,_ "

I shake my head, eyes rolling _, "Like hell they do,"_

She laughs and walks in front of the door, eyebrows arched,

And where do you think you're going _young lady_ "

I pretend to get really serious, and tilt my head acting as if I am thinking,

"I'm going to illegally party all night, and come back in the morning with zero recollection of what just happened, and by then I should be mentally prepared for your lecture, _mom"_

She rolls her eyes, hands going to her hips,

"Just remember curfew you idiot, and by the way, if you ever get the guts to read that letter, tell me how it goes, and don't let it get to you, promise me you won't let it get to you…"

A silence seems to descend, and I can hardly breath, I can hear the blood rush in my ears, my heart leaping out of my chest, my mind being blown, and without warning the memories hit, like a brick, like a avalanche, and her voice, so soft, so kind, so scared. I remember the first time I saw her at the old willow tree, hiding behind its big branches from the bad people, I had hid and I had seen her, hunched and eyes wide, she watched me and I watched them, and she said come inside child, and ever since….

I remember the way she would nod when I talked and nod when I whisper, and nod when I read, and she would nod when she slept, I remember the way her hand curved around that old tapping cane, I remember the way she taught me morals, and values, and things about life, I remember how she told me about the magic school, the school of dreams, she said she never made it to it, but then she said one day I would.

Her voice was always raspy, but it was kind, the only kindness I really knew before V showed up, before Scorpius came along, before Hogwarts.

"Rose don't make mistakes" "Rose sit up straight" "Rose, don't make mistakes" "Rose sit up straight," "Rose, hide from the gutter," "Rose remember why you're here" "Rose don't go outside, bad things happen outside" "Rose remember…" "Don't make mistakes"

And then I blink and her wrinkled face disappears and it's just me and V, V who is watching me come back from the past with her eyes curious, the V who was there from day 1 here, the V who hit John McCullum for me in second year when he slapped me, the V who was always there.

"I'll tell you the minute I open it, I promise…"

She nods, and then she searches my face and steps out of the way to let me by, and as I go she grabs my wrist and turns me slightly to face her, her eyes pierce into me,

"Rose, I know that if you go where he asked you to, or go at all that it's crossing a line, a big line, and that Sheila cannot find out, you know that right?"

I look down at her hand, the way it slips around my wrist, the way it seems to be an anchor, keeping me in place, keeping me safe,

"V, it's a project not life or death, so there is no harm…"

She watches me intensely,

"I believe in the ripple effect, that one action can cause a thousand others, one action Rose, and that means any action…."

And on that doorstep, with one foot out and one foot in, I have a choice, and I take a deep breath, and count to three… One, she's right, of course she is, two, it's just a project, I hate him, three, no harm…

I lick my lips and force a smile,

"Don't wait up for me…"

The steps are hard beneath my feet, and they seem to go on and on before me, I can see the top in the far off distance hiding from me, there in that small doorway, I can see the moonlight creep in and I watch its rays haunt me, call me, asking me to come closer.

Its late, dinner seems so long ago and Fridays are so very busy, that sneaking away from it all, V's wandering eyes, and Dom's love sick heart, the way Scorpius stares across the room at another Potter, not the one with the golden eyes, but the one with the emeralds that never gaze back.

Up these stairs, I am far away from the bustle of life, the constant way the world turns, the classes, the homework, the stress, the friendships that are growing and igniting, and the romance that seems to be too brave for all of our young hearts. The way Scorpius watches Albus, Albus watches the world, and Rose W. watches them. I can't help but want to tell Scorp that Rose asked for him, but I don't dare, and so the stairs climb above me, as I go in circles, the shadows bouncing off the walls as I go onwards.

This morning, as I went down to that great hall for breakfast I got a telegram, as in delivered the muggle way, at Hogsmead, with my name on it, McGonagall gave it to me. And with one quick glance at the address I hid it in my pocket and ignored it all day, but the parchment is now heavy by my side, as if burning me through the fabric, a warning sign, telling me to read it, to dare to glance, to dare, and yet I fear it.

The steps climb on above me, and my feet take each one in stride, climbing higher and higher, away from the world, my steps are so soft I can hardly hear the quiet putter patter of my shoes on the stone, the timid sound of my hand running along the wall, guiding me upwards, the scrape of my nails sends a chill down my back. The glow of the dim light of the lamps is eerie, and causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand up, and my breath to come quick. It casts shadows across my face, into my eyes, reflecting the world in them, reflecting the fear.

I can feel eyes on my back, and yet no one is watching me, I can feel them follow me, in Hogwarts with all the moving pictures I always feel like I am being watched, as if I am trapped, never truly alone. The doorway is lit in moonlight, as the stars reflect the suns brightness in all shades of silver and grey. The stars have always fascinated me, they too dare me to open that letter, and they too dare me to take the next few steps onto this tower. The North Tower is considered one of the tallest in all of Hogwarts, out of bounds and yet I am sure he somehow bent the rules, for us, no, _for him._

I stand in the doorway and I watch the beautiful sight before me, the wind roaring past me, making my lips turn slightly upwards, the wind does not make me cold, but alive, the tip of my nose getting red, the tips of my ears rosy.

The wind reminds me, and pulls me back in time, his hair is white like snow, like the snow falling around us, he is one with it, laughing at something I said, I realise I can't remember what I said to make him laugh, but I remember being proud I had, this was just after his grandfather passed away, he had been so sad, because the public had rejoiced as if it was a good thing, the Potters had rejoiced like it was a good thing. I remember him running out of the great hall when he got the letter, hand over his face, eyes wide with horror, I remember running after him, into the boys bathroom, for once not giving a damn it was off limits, and into it, and I wrapped my arms around him and said, "It'll be okay, not today, but one day I promise, I'll make everything okay…."

I remember it was just weeks before winter break, and he was so looking forward to spending Christmas with his family, his dad was always away on business, he'd promised to be home this Christmas, I remember how I took him to Hogsmead, and bought him warm Butterbeer and after I took him to our special place, hidden just behind the Three Broomsticks, was a snug little alley, that was covered in beautiful tapestries that Melisandre, an old woman with a kind smile, and a big heart sold them for 3 sickles. I remember how it began to snow, and I threw snow balls at him and I said something that made him laugh and I felt so proud, so happy, so relieved, and there was a wind….. Like this wind…

What had I said?

I blink and the snow disappears, the terrace is large, expanding before me, it has a turrets top, like those medieval castles, that acts as a railing or banister between me and flying. I want to fly, suddenly the wind does feel cold, and my pocket feels a little too heavy, and I go to reach for the letter, but then I second guess myself and wrap my arms around myself, stepping over the thresh hold, the wind is beautiful, the stars remind me of an endless galaxy and I can't help but be blown away, whoever could have the power to create something so beautiful, or was it not a who but a how, was it not even real, It looks far too extraordinary to leave behind. It blankets me, wrapping me up, pulling me in, I am trapped in their light. I want to count them, everyone, every single glowing jewel that smiles down at me, but there are simply too many.

That's what I like about this world, the one with the thrilling magic, they don't destroy their environment, they don't have electricity to block out the stars, they don't have fossil fuels to cloud our atmosphere, our air, and they don't have machines that kill our planet. Instead they have spells that can grow back, that can fix, and that can replant, recreate, and refocus.

I got another letter this morning, the hand writing was cursive, strong, elegant, it too dared me to live, it too dared me to climb, it too dared me to look him in the eye, well here I am, on the top of the world, the wind in my hair, the door flung open, the stairs stretching on behind me. The letter had arrived by an owl, beautiful and all white, with black on the tips of its ears, when I got it I had felt everyone seem to watch, I remember how I thought, that even his owl had eyes that seemed to be liquid flames. It had said,

 _~You want to learn the stars, do you want to see them up close, go to the highest tower at midnight, and take a chance this Friday night, I promise no promises~_

 _-J.S.P_

I walk across the terrace, my eyes searching the darkness, it seems to dance with me, making my blood rush, the wind is cold in my hair, dancing it in the breeze, throwing it around, I have no idea how long I stand there, and eventually I step closer looking down, the ground seems like miles away, small below me, and I feel like a giant, hovering above it all, above everything.

The night sky captivates me, as if the stars and I are one. And then I feel the eyes, they are soft, they are kind, they are honest and they are real, and I can feel the way they bring me close, the way they hold me in their arms, the way they are saying it will be okay without speaking a word, and the time pasts and I don't say a word, and neither does he, neither of us dare to, this moment is too perfect, this moment is too fleeting.

My voice is soft and quiet in the still, it sounds like the wind, floating across the space to him,

"How long were you standing there?"

The shadows respond, with a whisper, a call, a summon, but I don't move, that voice is like velvet, like silk, not rough like cotton but perfect, deep, mysterious, controlled but smart, as if it always knows exactly what to say, always what to say. It asks me a question; it asks me a dream,

"Would you believe me if I said forever?"

I shake my head, my hair making a soft swishing sound, back and forth, I know he notices the movement, the way my hair slips over my shoulders, the way my hands wrap around myself, trying to stop the shivers. His voice comes at me again, running towards me like a hurricane, and yet somehow he is the eye, he is the calm in every storm, he asks me again, his words make the shivers increase,

"What's wrong with forever?"

I shake my head again, back and forth, the movement is less forced, more natural, more human, and my voice is timid, and honest when it replays,

"Nothing lasts that long,"

His gaze seems to multiply, and his voice holds a daring tone, daring me to prove him wrong,

"Some things can…."

I swallow hard, and I don't turn, my back still faces him, though I can imagine his figure, the Gryffindor uniform unkempt, the slight upturn of his lips, his eyes dancing and yet the flames are still, the way he would be leaning in the doorway, relaxed, unafraid, always unafraid, the way his hair would fall into his eyes, blending in with the shadows, the way his hands would look like art work, the way his cheekbones would look like nightmares. When I do answer, this time I am asking the question as if he were before me, my voice is not as timid as before, demanding, quiet, but straight to the point,

"Like what?"

I hear the soft caress of fabric against fabric as he moves in the still, and I try not to hang onto every second of this moment, his voice is beautiful, like a painting it mesmerises me,

"Love, respect, legends, kings, ministries, worlds, words…"

A pause, I can hear his hand run through his hair, the quiet slip of each soft strand of hair going through each callused finger, running over his skin, then he continues,

"They can't be forgotten, sometimes when I can't sleep at night I like to think that one day I'll make a big enough dent to become forever, like my father did…"

I seem to be shaking my head again, I can never seem to agree with what he says, with anything he says,

"Not even your father will last forever, he'll become a legend, and then a ghost, and then legends will be forgotten, and the people who forget won't even remember why they did, what they did…"

He sighs, the sound mirrors the wind, and I wish I could see it, him, it all, everything. His voice sounds like a dream, a bad dream, where you know it is far too good to be true, and it is enticing, it is drawing me closer, and yet I don't turn, I can't face him, and so he speaks,

"Forever can last on in books, in the pages we write, in the love we give, in the respect we have for each other, for anyone,"

I lick my lips and close my eyes, the darkness seems to swallow me, the stars seem to dance with me, a slow waltz back and forth, the rhythm lost in the wind, and my voice caries with that wind,

"And what do you Potter, know about love, or _respect,"_

He chuckles, as dark as the night sky, as light as the wind running through my hair, as hot as the fire that burns through my veins, as cold as the snow of winter,

"Nothing, and you, _mademoiselle brilliant_ , tell me _Ravenclaw_ , do you know?"

The wind takes my sigh, soft, and in its turning air away from me, and there is a pause and then I answer, with just a light hint of anger, of distaste,

"More than you do,"

I wonder why he watches me like he does, why he asked Veronica all those questions, why he wanted to know my name on the train platform, why he liked the way I yelled at him, why he didn't like Scorpius, I can't help but wonder, I like when I understand things, when I understand the world, but I can't seem to ever understand him, and that mystifies me. It mystifies me why he has everything and yet isn't satisfied, and that he somehow is so shallow that there is nothing to see, and then sometimes, in moments like this he is so very deep I am afraid I might drown, and slip under, in his eyes, in his arms, his words.

His words are honest, their what he believes, like that he is like me he speaks what he thinks, he says what he wants, he doesn't give a damn if it offends, destroys, or starts a rebellion, and yet again I am lost because around a crowd he is so very careful with what he says, how he acts, refined, perfect, and yet here, alone, he says what he means, there is no barrier, no filter, no damn given. And so I have no idea what to expect.

What he says seems to move me; each word is very matter of fact, very isn't it like this? It is convincing, he's good at that, convincing,

"Are we not too young to know what love means? Or are we too old to remember that respect is necessary? I have a family that saved the world because they loved each other, now you can choose to believe that or Rita Skeeter who writes that they saved the world because they had some kind of weapon…"

I find myself breathless; he seems to be so very able to take my breath away with a just a few sentences,

"James, you can't save people with love if you don't have the bravery, the power, the brilliance, the guts to do it, love is just another factor in everything. And yes, we are far too young to understand something as big as love, or as huge as respect… And I know more because I was never told that love is the weapon, I was told that love is the sacrifice…."

Another chuckle, a shiver running up my back, I can feel his eyes on me, drilling holes in the back of my head, daring me to face him, I don't turn, his voice reminds me of silk, and velvet, of a sickly sweet syrup coting and beneath it something hard, refined, real, something I want to get to know, but what he says causes me to want to hurt him, to rip away all the lies and talk to him heart to heart, not that he'd know where his heart is, or where it is located, merlin, he is so blind he can't even see where mine is, or whose it is,

"What makes you think that? Because you've had such a hard life, coming to the greatest wizarding school as a city girl from London, you were given the gift of being here, and gods aren't you lucky with that incredible mind of yours, as you too learn to climb to the top, _right?_ "

My teeth grind together, loud, and I can feel the fire, the shiver replaced by a burning hatred, yes, an emotion I hardly ever feel, and yet more and more often he seems to be able to get me that mad, at him and at me, and my voice is raw, enraged,

"Don't _you dare_ pretend to know anything about me, or my life you _bloody_ idiot. You think my life is _easy_? _You think you know me?"_

I turn around, staring at him in utter rage, my chest rising and falling with anger, my heart rate quick, my eyes wide, he is hidden in the shadows, his eyes piercing black gold, as if asking me to fall into them, to drown in them, he blends into the dark, a gold chain standing out on his neck, fine, expensive, and a red jewelled lion head hangs at the end, the Gryffindor symbol, his initials carved on its roaring teeth. He wears all black, and therefore he is the darkness, that I fear, that I want to run from, and his relaxed posture mocks me, his eyes of liquid copper call me. He gracefully leans on that wall, hair messy, hanging into those eyes, a hand in his pocket; the muscles of his arm stand out in the shadows, each rise and fall traced by that enthralling darkness. His hair is one with the darkness, causing him to look like the devil himself, his teeth white pearls gleaming between parted lips, gleaming at me.

He stands up and steps out of the darkness, watching me like a hawk, a predator and for a moment I feel as if I should be scared, that gaze is so electric, so uncontrollable, and so honest. He licks his lips, a soft motion, and his hands raise from his sides in a wide gesture, as if he is holding up the sky, extending to their full length in both directions, and so he raises an eyebrow, eyes hard with flames I cannot seem to look away from, lips in a smirk that is legendary, and maybe, I can't help but think that face, that mind, _those eyes_ , might just last forever.

His voice is like ice, but it makes the fire start to burn inside of me, it dares me, it asks me, it wants me, and that, that scares me, he looks like a god his arms seem to encompass the world, his eyes seem to burn me alive, and I feel my heart pound a quickened beat to me,

 _"_ _Enlighten me…."_

I swallow hard, I see him follow the motion, he knows he makes me uncomfortable, scared, nervous, angry, mad, happy, observant, or maybe he doesn't, maybe he just pretends to as he pretends to with everything else. Maybe he genuinely wants to know how my mind works, how my heart works, but I cannot seem to gain the courage to let him in,

I clear my throat and look away,

"We should get started on the project…?"

He watches me, the way I turn my head, the way I look away, the way my vein pulses with each quickened breath, after all its just us, me and him, with the sky, on a high tower, far away from everything, everyone, the world is far beneath us, his voice reminds me of a falcons screech, in the early dawning mornings, outside of the orphanage, I always looked forward to its early morning call, as if saying, here I am, as if saying I will wake you every morning, of every day whether you like it or not.

That voice keeps going, and I try not to drown in it, to get lost in it,

"A part of the project is getting to know each other, and that means if I say you're a city girl, you say no, and tell me _exactly_ what you are, I'll go first, I'm just a guy who was born with a silver plate, and everything I've ever had was fed to me, all I had to do was open my _god damn mouth_ , right Rose? You put it best,"

I remember how I yelled that at him, the boys in the dormitory watching on, him so very close, towering above me, he wasn't angry, he wasn't even mad, he had brushed every cruel comment I had said right off, and as he said it now, I couldn't tell if I should laugh, or apologize, or run and hide.

He mocks me, and yet he does it with so much integrity, so much bloody righteousness that it seems as if he is conducting a sermon. I look into those eyes, the flames are low, just sparks, just smoke, he sees me watch him, and I see him watch me, but all alone, we can watch each other more openly, but the wide alone feels far too big, and the stars above seem to be judging our every move, so I take a breath in.

"No, I'm not from the city; at least I don't think so, my parents and I…. We don't talk much about where I'm from, or at all, and you? James, where are you from, where were you born?"

It's a lie, almost all of it. I've never met my parents, seen their faces, sometimes I like to imagine what they look like, do they resemble me and I them? Or do we look nothing alike, would I notice them if they were walking by me on the street, or even more importantly would they notice me? I don't know where I'm from, sometimes I like to think its some distant foreign country, because that sounds cool, when I was little I would tell myself I was a princess of a far off land, that had to be sacrificed for the greater good of the people. But honestly, I doubt it. But James doesn't need to know me, and the way his eyes hang on every word, makes me question why I lied, but that single quick, heartbeat of insecurity is gone, after all only the girls, and Scorpius know who I am. And I fear even them knowing, I fear trusting, so why would I want to trust the fools incarnate before me?

He ducks his head, eyebrows scrunching together as he examines me, his voice is like the dawn, as the sun comes and warms the world, taking away all the cold, and for a moment I think he knows I'm lying, his eyes seem to say, "Really Rose? You'd think I'd believe that?" But he doesn't say anything on it; he just speaks, a voice that never seizes to amaze me,

"I was born in Venice, my dad and mum, they travelled a lot back then, a lot less now, and if they do it's with the family, not just us, but _everyone_ related to us, sometimes I think I'd like it to be just us… I've been to Venice, it's beautiful, but it's not home…"

I stop myself from stepping closer, his voice is so soft, so breath taking, for a moment I wonder if he can sing, but more than that I wonder what is home? But I don't dare ask, and I study the ground instead, I seem to always find the ground,

"When I got your note this morning I thought that you must be crazy to want to go here after hours, and then I thought you were challenging me, wondering if I'd show up,"

He smiles, genuine, and that is like the dawn of time, if I could just memorise the way his lips tilt, no, Rose, pull yourself together, you just need rest, and sleep and some common sense, in that exact order. His voice is humorous, laughing as he speaks,

"And here you are, don't worry _Ravenclaw_ I didn't doubt you for a moment,"

I chuckle with him, lips turning up and I lean against the tower, the stone is cold, but his gaze keeps me warm, keeps my cheeks warm,

"You did get permission _right?_ "

I arch an eyebrow and so does he, and he grins, wide, happy, and shakes his head laughing,

"Aww, _Miss Perfect_ can't be late past curfew, can't break a rule or two?"

I scoff, tossing my hair over your shoulder, and look scandalized, my sarcasm dripping off of each word,

"I'd like you to know I am very good at breaking the rules, but this year we are prefects, and that means we need to step up our game, _and focus_ ,"

He is full on laughing now, head thrown back, teeth shinning like stars in the night, and he isn't the darkness I realise, he is the light, he is the reason that Veronica is always so happy over the breaks, is always so loud, so full of a joy, a joy that only he seems to be able to possess.

His voice is mocking, pocking fun at me,

"You sound like McGonagall,"

I place a hand over my heart, and throw my head back, trying to look love stricken,

"Oh you mean your ' _love_ '?"

He smirks, and shakes his head softly, but walks over to the telescopes anyways, his stride careless, elegant, strong, masculine. He adjusts the lenses and peers through it as he peers at me, and I follow his gaze, up to the stars, and he seems to become lost in them, and so I turn away, my back to him and I take out the letter that was sent to me early today, and for a moment I wonder why, but with Potter here I feel safer, as if whatever it holds can't hurt me as much as it would normally, _"Alright Rose you can do this, you can do anything, right?"_ I whisper to myself, murmuring encouragement, and I feel his eyes glance from the skies to me, as he hears the taring of parchment and the seal to envelope is broken and I open it, looking inside,

And so I read,

Dear Rose Nadia BlackThorne,

The orphanage wanted to inform you that a family of four has requested the adoption papers for you, to take you into their care as a foster family until you reach the age of eighteen and legal adulthood. Now they understand your situation and how you are an honours student on full scholarship at some elite boarding school, and they completely approve of this situation, but would like to meet you this Sunday and get to know you. So I do suggest if you want a family, happiness and a worth-while life you get yourself a train ticket and come down to London for the weekend. As well they couldn't be happier that your school is free, though they do want physical confirmation of this,

We expect you on time,

Liza Carter

I reread it, and then I read it again, my breath quick. A family, the idea is preposterous, and yet I can't help but imagine it, and I want to scream, to smile, to run but I stay, my eyes wide, my hands shaking. I can feel a single tear trace my cheek and I wipe it away, a smile on my face, and I can't seem to stop smiling. I clutch the letter close, and I forget the world, my imagination running before me like a wild horse, daring me to run after it, images of someone hugging me, waving me goodbye, kissing me goodnight seem to come out of smoke before me,

"Whoever wrote you seems to be awfully good at making you smile…"

His voice is inquisitive, and for a moment I had forgot that he was here, standing, observing,

"They aren't good at it normally, but today… It…."

He cocks his head, and an eyebrow,

"Does that mean that something happened, something good?"

His voice is comforting, quiet, young, oh so very young,

"Maybe…."

He smiles as soft as his voice, as soft as the wind,

"Then maybe it is all worth it, in the end, right?"

I smile up at the stars, the paper clutched in between my fingers,

"Maybe…."

There is a long pause, that seems to stretch on and on, and then he speaks, jokey, humorous, and I can't help but let the smile spread like a wild fire on my face. His voice is like lightning, and he laughs as he says it, eyebrows arched,

"Are we having a civilized conversation?"

I feel the blush spread across my cheeks, and bite my lip, my smile seems to be contagious as he smiles back, I shake my head in defiance, raising my chin,

 _"_ _No!"_

He walks over, each step making my heart pound,

"We are having one, an actual conversation without you wanting to kill me,"

He is close, towering over me,

"No, and I still want to kill you Potter, _don't get your hopes up_ ,"

He shakes his head, bumping my shoulder with his, the action is playful, the simple contact makes me want to gasp but instead I am laughing, it is all so silly, up here, away from everything it seems so perfect, too perfect, and the brief contact makes my heart rate speed up,

His voice is funny, a slight chuckle beneath each word, a slight hint of temptation behind each syllable,

"I think we are,"

I shake my head, laughing,

"I think were not!"

I giggle, and then I smile, wide, not half, not fake, not forced, real, and it seems to light up his face, his eyes, he seems to become alive as he watches me smile, really smile, and I can't help but want him to hold me, to tell me it will all be okay, right here, right now,

He isn't smiling anymore, he's watching me, eyes alive, he looks so serene, so calm, so shocked, I wonder what shocked him, and then he opens his god damn mouth and my world crumbles, because how was I to know that this was the first time, of oh so many times, that we would stand here, on this terrace, with inches between us, and the world below us forgotten, how was I to know that if I had only told him to not say anything, to keep quiet, everything would be so different, but I wanted to hear what he had to say, I wanted and how was I to know that one day I would need it, him.

His words hit me like a train, like a bullet, but I'm not dying instead its making me want to fly, and want to climb higher and higher, and maybe today, every day we will fly, but me and James maybe this is flying, right now, right here,

"I think I like the way you smile…."

I stop and stare at him, my eyes following him, and he steps closer, the gold of his chain seems to be like the sun, and so he continues,

"I think I'd like to see you smile more often…."

My chest is rising and falling, but his eyes stay on mine, and I feel like the only girl in the world, and there is a million and one things going through my head, but one of them is that he should step closer, that he should dare, just this once, that no one would know,

His voice sets every part a flame, every word is like a bullet, a stab and yet I have never felt better, then here, and that's the strange thing I don't understand, what is he doing to me?

"I think that your smile is a reminder that there is good in the world…"

I stare into those eyes, those beautiful orbs that I could get lost in,

"Oh James, what are you saying?"

He smiles, soft, so very young, so very transparent,

"I'm saying you're beautiful, I'm saying that I have no idea what I'm doing, but maybe, maybe we should dare…"

I can't take my eyes from him, from that face those eyes, everything, and I feel that fear, that coldness in the darkness, and it seems to tell me that maybe this is a cross road, that maybe this could tell the rest of my life, and I need to choose, choose what's right and not for me, but for everyone, Sheila, Veronica, Scorpius, me, James. And I can almost see it, it's almost possible, and just for a heartbeat I believe that it could be us, somewhere, everywhere, in Venice, that he could show me the world.

But it's gone, because the better part of me, the smarter part of me realises he is just a boy, a boy that sees a pretty girl with a nice smile, a boy that has never even known what love is, that suddenly wants to get to know the pretty girl and take her places, when he himself doesn't know where he is going.

And I don't know him, I have no idea who he is, what he's done, what his life is like, and I hate him, I hate him for thinking I would say yes, for thinking I am that cheap, that easy, after 2 weeks of barely knowing each other and he wants me to be on my knees begging. But at the same time I want to say yes, I want to forget that I should be making every day count, thinking through every move. I wonder how fast it would take him to get disinterested in me; I can almost see him counting the days, and me counting the hours, would I even last a week? And then someone knew comes and I am thrown out the window.

I know his reputation, the things he has done, the way he treats people, I'm not blind, Sheila and him hardly talk to each other, how quickly does it become an act, and I hardly noticed him over those three years, but I have seen all the girls he has gone through, all the many, many girls he has left behind.

And I can see the wheels turning, and there is regret on his face, regret he had said anything, and his voice is not so sweet when he speaks, instead its cruel, and it makes me feel small, and the ground is not far away because I am not a giant anymore, and he finishes his sentence, and crushes it, whatever it was,

 _"_ _Dare_ to stay out all night, then your reputation really would be ruined, what would Sheila say? Do you think Scorpius would beat me up? I _'d bet 5 galleons he would…"_

There is a pause, a quick moment, and then my hand is moving through the air like a bullet, and this one will hurt and I slap him, the famous James Potter right across the cheek, he wasn't expecting it, and laughs cradling his face,

" _Merlin Rose_ , that civilized conversation thing lasted like _2 seconds tops,"_

I turn away, rolling my eyes,

"UGHHH, don't you _merlin me, you bastard_ , now shut the hell up and study the stupid sky so we can finish this and go inside, _okay?"_

He chuckles,

"Alright _princess_ whatever you need,"

I seem to be growling, or flexing my fingers, I wonder which one, maybe both,

"Don't make me hit you again, _I swear I will!"_

He puts his hands up, eyebrows raised, laughing as he backs away in defence,

 _"_ _Oookaayy!"_

I roll my eyes and go to the telescope and he goes to the next one, shaking his head, lips upturned, but deep behind the masquerade I see regret, just a glimpse, and I must not have seen it, and yet it felt so real, the moment, his words.

"What do you see?"

I ask after what seems like forever, the hours slipped by, it must be around 2 in the morning, and yet there is still adrenaline pulsing through my veins, every moment with James Potter seems to be an adventure and a new experience I don't want to have, it breaks the still, and when he answers it is as soft as the wind, and as kind as the light, and as mysterious as the fire,

"The universe and _hell_ it's big…"

I'm sitting on the ground, my legs crossed, my body forming a knot, my robes used as a blanket, keeping me warm from the elements of the night, I bite my lip as I ponder what emotion Venus is letting off, as it is tilted 23.5% on its axis, I roll my eyes in annoyance,

"Potter?"

He glances up, raising an eyebrow,

"Hmm?"

I sigh and run a hand over my face and then take a deep breath,

"When an inner planet is tilted to the right but less than 90% in fall, with the new moon what emotion is it letting on?"

He licks his lips, grinning,

"Does _Miss Brilliant_ not know? _Oh no, whatever shall we do?"_

I shake my head, scoffing,

"You know what _answer or forget it_ ,"

He chuckles, sighing,

"Someone has attitude issues…!"

I roll onto my stomach, burying my face in my hands,

 _"_ _JAMES!"_

He licks his lips again, "Yes? _Do you want an answer now?_ Alright, calm down _adorable_ , it means that until the next new moon war will be less, because blood lust will be underpowered by the lack of moonlight to guide attacks, at least the ancient roman gods apparently thought so, and the emotion stream lined would be honesty and integrity, for these 29 and a half days until the next new moon, got it? And since Venus is on the inside-"

I finish his sentence,

"It would be a stronger more solid emotion because it is a solid planet with a core of iron, or pixy dust, so our future would encompass things that are more team involved, such as the Quidditch game coming up, as a small thing, or affect bigger things like the vote on the forgotten one's next week Wednesday on if they should be left alone if they are under the age of 20…."

He nods, his smile falling for a moment as he is reminded of the upcoming fate,

"Exactly, but for something more personal, like results for this project we can monitor our team work, how often we have sessions, if it is more often than next month or the month after and so on…"

I nod, scribbling down notes next to the carefully drawn graphing's,

There is a silence again and then he speaks, his voice warm like the sun,

"I always thought studying the stars was just astronomy…"

A silence, I don't glance up, he continues,

"Do you know what the brightest star is?"

I feel my eyes dip close, and open them rolling my head side to side to wake me up, the unfinished star charts lay on my lap, next to them is the scribblings to what our futures are corresponding to the constellations,

"No, but that's what the project is here for, learning and all that,"

A silence, I wonder if he heard me, so it is my turn to continue,

"But I bet you think you know Potter,"

He laughs, so soft I can hardly hear it,

"That I do _Miss Black_ , it's called Sirius, I was named after it, and before me someone else was, someone who will live forever, and you also got to share his name, didn't you, _Black?_ "

I sigh, pushing my hair out of my face, rolling back onto my back, propping myself up with my elbows,

"One doesn't choose their last name; it is simply coincidental that together they form his name, _nothing more,"_

He shakes his head, a steady, powerful movement, that looks like it could cause an earthquake,

"I don't believe in coincidence,"

"Well I do…"

"Does that mean you believe we were destined to meet, that it was written in the stars?"

I roll my eyes, stretching as I lie down on the cold stone ground, surrounded by scattered papers, and illegible scribblings as I wrote down everything he documented and saw in the heavens,

"Nope."

He chuckles again, I seem to want to hear more, more of his laugh, but I stop the thought as it comes. Another silence, another pause, as minutes fly by and we admire the still between us,

Eventually he speaks up,

"What is your favourite shade of blue?"

My eyes slip open, he no longer stands by the telescope, but leaning against the terrace with his head tilted towards the heavens, eyes upturned, he watches me watch him.

I look to the sky that shines above us, and I ponder the question, what does he mean,

"I think that it is irrelevant to the project,"

He tilts his head; the moonlight makes him look like a ghost, all silvers with gold eyes, and a gold chain that seems to tie him to earth, chaining him down,

" _Entertain me_ , after all you are a _Ravenclaw_ , Black, what's your favourite shade?"

I bite my cheek, and think, I look up to the sky, my head tilted back like his, and I watch the beautiful stars above us, the beauty of each light, and how with that light you can see the darkness of the blue, I love the way it is almost black, I love the way it seems dangerous, and yet mysterious, like it has a secret, like it has a thousand secrets,

"Dark blue, like the darkness above us, it captivates me,"

He closes his eyes, his hair falling out of his eyes, as the wind rushes in between us,

"It is beautiful…"

He's beautiful, like the sky he is untouchable, he is too far away to ever be able to get, he is one of those peoples that can't be real, that is too prefect to be real. Where are his flaws? He continues, his voice like a melody, sad and breathless, beautiful,

"If you could get that sky, what would you do with it?"

I giggle, soft, mystified, mystical, shaking my head I look at the stars, the blue, the beauty of it all,

"I'd lock it in a bottle, and admire it on special occasions,"'

His lips tilt up,

"Would you ever take it out?"

I close my eyes letting myself be bathed in the moonlight,

"No, well maybe, if it was just me, just me and the heavens maybe I would wrap myself inside it, like it blankets us now, and I would hold it close and breath in its fresh air, and admire it…."

He nods,

"One day I'll capture that sky for you…."

I giggle again,

"And put it in a bottle?"

He nods again, his eyes look at me, honest, real, as if he is dead serious, and that makes me want to laugh even more, he ducks his head and keeps talking,

"Yeah with a quirk and everything, and I'd send it to you, all wrapped up, and I'd watch you smile, that smile that's like liquid gold, priceless, not even the heavens deserve to see that smile,"

"And you do?"

It slips out, before I can catch it, and regret saying it, but you can't take words back, you can't erase them so I watch his head tilt,

"Who said anything about me not?"

And there again, we are reaching a boundary that line Veronica was talking about, that rule that I cannot break, and so I stand, brushing off imaginary dirt, eyes on the ground, eyes as far from his as they can be,

"I should go inside,"

He shakes his head, and crosses his arms over his chest, muscles bulging, not that I notice,

"Afraid of the dark, or me?"

I glance up, quick, my eyes finding his,

"A little bit of both,"

He sighs and he looks honest,

"Stay…."

I think for a moment, that twice in one day is far too many times for my liking, and so I say what he said, just in different words, in different ways, I tell him the boundary, I tell him the limit, and in the words is laced a sorry, a quiet, non-existent apology,

"And dare having my reputation ruined? Breaking you and Sheila up? My friends hating me? Scorpius disowning me? And you forgetting me the second someone more interesting comes along? _I'd rather not…."_

He detaches himself from the wall and steps closer, I feel myself step back, his words run through me like a tidal wave, washing away common sense, but a wall is built as soon as they leave me empty,

"I don't believe there is anyone more interesting than you, and trust me I've met _quite_ a variety…"

"I don't doubt it, what is truly disgusting is that you're proud of that,"

He shakes his head, eyebrows coming together in confusion, genuine confusion,

"Why do you care so much about what other people think?"

"Why do I care? _Why do you care?"_

He looks down, eyes darting from mine and coming back honest, real,

"Because it's all an illusion and I fear them seeing through it,"

I tilt my head,

"IS this an illusion, _now_ , this moment?"

He shakes his head again, for what seems like the millionth time,

"No, it's a secret, a lie, a little bit of a flirt, a little a bit of a dare…"

I take another step back, away from him, away from it all,

"A flirt?"

He licks his lips; I can't help but watch the movement,

"You're blushing…"

My eyes tare away from his, and I go the door way, and turn back, he doesn't look at me but at that sky,

"What's the lion mean?"

His hand goes to the necklace, wrapping around it, the rubies glint in the light of the moon, in the light of his eyes,

"It's a secret and I don't trust you to keep it,"

I watch him, and shake my head chuckling,

"Who the hell are you James Sirius Potter?"

He looks at me, eyes that shine like gold, that are gold, and then one bats closed in a sly, smooth wink, that dares me to take the temptation, who am I to resist, but I am already on the other side of the doorway, safe on the other side, another boundary between us…

"I'm someone who will last forever…"


	12. The Heavens on Cloth

Chapter 12: The Heavens on Cloth

~James' POV~

The light shines down, bathing me in its warmth, I feel the way it seems to bring me to life, I love the way it burns me with its heat, bringing me to life, bringing us all to life, as if puppets at its willing command, each ray a string pulling our eyelids open. I watched the stars fade, slipping behind and slowly disappearing one by one behind the clouds, behind the world, behind the horizon, a line that defines a limit I would like to break, as the sun rose to challenge the moon, a long and tired battle, that it wins every day, and the moon wins every night. The sun is large, sometimes I like to wonder how long I would take me to fly around it, and so it rises, its light burning anything in its path, and from it I can see the beauty of just the nature outside, I watch from the window across the room, I watch and I hear, each bird and each and every thing wake up, as if the sun was calling them to its arms, to its beckon.

I feel her stir, her breath soft into the silence, I can hear each breath, the in and out, the catch of air on her teeth, the rattle of her breath as a shiver runs through her, I can hear each movement, each swallow. I wonder if she knows how late I came in, just as the sun started to scrape the sky at dawns rise, and nights end, I wonder if she knows why I creeped in so late, I wonder, how can I not? It's what I'm good at.

At least they think I am good at it, they think I'm good at everything, that I can save the world in a hearts beat, when I was younger I thought that maybe I could, but no one can. My family is known for its exceptions, because my dad can, a father, a hero, a saviour, they paint his picture on every head line, but I don't know him as that hero, that saviour I know him as the guy that used to tell me good night stories, that would tell my mother to give up on keeping my hair in place, that said he loved me just the same. Just the same, three words that have meant so much. Don't they always?

I remember the first time I noticed him pick him out, Albus, as if the black sheep of the family was a favourite, not just of him, everyone, I remember getting on the train and turning, looking back at Albus, he was going into first year, and he was scared, I remember how dad sat him down and gave him a speech that saved his sons life, and there was something in his eyes, a love, an understanding, as if he got it.

When I went in to first year I remember looking in the mirror before we went to the train station, I was the second of the huge family to go, Teddy was first, I remember saying you've got this so many times I think I began to believe it. I remember my dad squeezing me close, his arms strong, his eyes kind, and saying I love you, but more than that, I remember as I walked away what he said to mom, the way he said it, for parents always think the little ones don't have ears, and yet I was listening from day one.

He said in a voice so soft, maybe I had misheard, _"Ginny he was born for the crowd, he's not the one we should be worrying about,"_

The sun seems to shine down on me, drowning me, and I blink, the station disappearing and the world coming into focus, the bed, the sheets tangled between us, the heavy drapes, with the sun peeking through, the soft breathing, the lullaby of each sigh,

Sheila pulls me closer, tucking her head into the crook of my neck, my hands are tangled in her hair, I love playing with her hair, the way it cascades over her shoulders, the way she always asks me to brush it. I remember when Sheila and I first met, she had a smile that set me on fire, she didn't bat her eyes, she said that I was the most interesting person she had ever laid eyes on, I always thought she was crazy to think so, to look past the image, and just get a glimpse at me. She had flirted for weeks, and when I broke it off with Linda she was there to be next, as if there was a line. Sheila, she is simple, I know her inside and out, the way she likes her eggs, the way she prefers to sleep, which side of the bed she likes, but more so, I know how quickly she distrusts, how easily she is influenced, how much she wants all eyes on her. Including mine.

Her eyes open, doe eyes, brown, light in colour and yet light because there has never been any dark. Never any worry, never any life, never any problems, but I would not call that innocence, no Rose is innocent, Veronica is innocent, Sheila is very far from that, but she is naïve.

"How long have you been up?"

I smile at her and stretch my arms, yawning as I feel the sunlight begin to shine in, and smile down at her, eyebrows rising, she looks happy, the stress lines disappearing as she smiles back, and I wink, an eye darting close,

"Ages…"

She giggles and turns over onto her stomach, hair throwing over her shoulder as she reaches for her robe, but I stop her with my arms, wrapping around her and trapping her in my embrace. She giggles and gives up on trying to get away, and sighs, eyes batting closed, and darting open. My voice is humorous, not serious, poking fun,

"Don't leave me,"

She rolls back onto her back and looks up at me, her eyes sad, serious and I feel my heart sink as I already know what she is going to say,

"Oh James, you'll be the one to leave, _aren't you always?"_

I lick my lips and sigh, running a hand through my hair, eyes scrunching shut and rolling my shoulders back to relieve tension, my voice is slightly annoyed when I speak again,

 _"_ _Way to ruin the moment S"_

She blinks and watches me get out of bed, my sweat pants hanging low on my hips, and I feel her watch the movement, the muscles relax, the skin, a part of me hates the way she watches me like I am a piece of meat, as if she is almost drooling like I'm some piece of gold, and I reach for a shirt, head shaking, hair untamed,

"I didn't want to ruin it, it's just everywhere I go there is someone you have dated, and you're in 4th year for _merlin's sake!"_

I feel my hand go to my hair again, the strands are soft, and she shakes her head, hands resting on her hips, gaze threatening,

"You come in late, you never _give a damn!"_

I feel my tongue dart over my lips, head shaking, eyes downcast,

"I know…"

She laughs, deranged,

"YOU KNOW? Merlin James, sometimes I wonder who you even are,"

I feel it like a stab but the brave face is already on, and I look at her, my eyes begging immediate forgiveness, hers on fire, and the heat doesn't burn it reminds, and the moment feels predetermined, and empty, all of it, and so she yells and yells and what can I do but listen?

"You get so lost in your head, and you go away, _away James_ and I feel as if wherever you are it can't be good, and you aren't honest to me"

My back turns to face her, our eyes connect, and she sees the want for it to be let go, forgotten, just for once, and I sigh, and my voice is timid, but straight forward and my eyes hold a danger, a line she doesn't dare to cross.

"What do you want to know?"

She stands, her dainty hands slipping around me waist and she leans into me, her chin resting on my shoulder, as I feel her want, too, for us to forget, to stop fighting, to compromise, her voice is soft,

"Everything, is that too much to ask?"

I lean into her touch, its cold, her hands, her fingers, I remember how much I craved that cold this summer, but I no longer want it now, and as winter approaches I dislike it more and more, I need a heart of ice but skin of fire, eyes of power, Sheila reminds me of a chess piece on a board where the game never was bothered to play and it stayed in place, with nothing more, growing rusty and dusty, one day to be forgotten.

I feel myself answer the standard answer,

"My family and I have so many secrets; I can't just let you in that easily, I'm not used to that, to this,"

"To what Jamie?"

I turn and face her, she looks worried, and once I might have wanted to put her at ease, but now I feel angry, anger that she does not trust me, that no one does. And so I say another line that seems pre-rehearsed, but works every time.

"To having someone care,"

She smiles up at me, and leans in kissing me slow, her lips are cold too, but this time I do crave them, the love, the attention, just someone who does want me, who does, _who does,_

She pulls away, her eyes sparkling with life,

"I love you James Sirius Potter, I always have,"

I smile, my eyes wrinkling, and peck her on the tip of her nose, eyes flashing closed, and pull away ruffling her hair tenderly,

"I know you do, and that's what makes you so very special,"

She grins and leans and kisses me again, hard, her lips demanding, her hands wrapping around me, as she pulls me closer till there is no distance between us, and I forget about the beautiful sunrise, I forget it all and collapse into her touch, falling back onto the bed, already knowing how we are going to be spending our morning. But some part of me feels disgust as if she is dirty, someone's seconds, and one day she'll be mine, and I feel the want to push her away but her arms pull me down and I give in, hands lost in her hair.

The hours went by in bliss, in regrets in a repeat of every other beautiful woman I've dated and eventually, after a nice shower, and fresh clothes, we walk to breakfast, my mates hit me on the back, meeting us in the common room,

"How'd you spend your morning, eh Jamie?"

I laugh, brushing off their hands, as Sheila blushes and hides her face beneath her hair,

Fred raises his eyebrows and peaks at Sheila and then looks at me,

"Ahh, James are we embarrassing the two of you?"

I shake my head, hand going to my hair, and laugh, the smile seems a little stretched, a little pulled,

"Hell no, I'm just too damn hot for you, aren't I hun?"

She bumps our shoulders, tucking her hair behind her ear, and she gives me a curious look, something along the lines of what are you saying? When she responds her voice is timid, and honest,

"Yeah you are…."

Something about her sincerity unsettles me, for a moment I was expecting for her to contradict me, and we would argue and argue, but I had said the wrong thing I realise, I had said something I wouldn't say to her, something I would say to a certain Ravenclaw, something I had almost imagined saying to _her_ before.

I shoot Sheila a small smile, and feel my tongue shoot out and brush over my lips, I never make a mistake in my act, I never am not smooth, but for a second of relapse everyone raises their eyebrows at me, asking, wondering, Fred's eyes tell me he knows, or maybe he wants to know,

"Come now Sheila, when you are in love what can one do?"

She smiles and it is back to normal, as if nothing happened, but something did happen, I made a mistake, I thought of her eyes again, the seas, I thought too much. I remember last night, my hands wrapped around her, my eyes on her, the words we said, the way she would tilt her head, and look at the floor, the way the wind of the tower tossed her hair, like flames of gold behind her. I remember how she said she wanted to capture the sky, I remember it all, and how she said she would wrap it around her.

I remember waiting minutes after she left, and instead of taking the stairs and following her footsteps down the stairwell, I apparate, disappearing into a swirl of skin, colour, and then the terrace of the top of the north tower is left empty and I fly through the air, landing with expertise, I remember wringing the door bell, apologizing for it being so late, I remember telling them what I wanted, I remember the way they showed me their ideas, laying out cloth, diamonds, sapphires and emeralds.

I remember how when it was almost dawn I crept to bed, Sheila's arms wrapping around air, a crease in her brow, eyes squeezed shut in fear, and without knowing I feel her eyes relax as I fill the space where the air once was, I see the crease disappear, I feel a soft sigh as the muscles of her shoulders relax. I remember feeling happy she could take a deep breath.

"There you go again getting lost in your head, James?"

I glance over at her, and smile softly, and shake my head side to side, pulling her under my arm and pressing my lips to her forehead, I watch her eyes dip close, and her shoulders shudder. I wonder if she does actually love me, some part of me always wonders if they do, or if it's just for show.

Fred taps my shoulder and nods to the side, and I smile at Sheila slipping away from her and the crowd, his eyes hold a haunted edge, and he shakes his head, looking at the floor, lowering his voice till it is barely audible, his eyes hold regret, fear, and a question, and I am hoping I won't know the answer. His voice is not just quiet but shakes, trembling, and in it I hear the first tremor of a war, of a battle, and his voice brings an earthquake, a thunderstorm, fire, and arsenal.

"James your dad was supposedly attacked in Diagon Alley…."

My smile is gone, and I feel my eyebrows come together, my heart skipping a beat, and my breath catches and I feel, as my eyes flash closed, the girl her hands are bone, her skin raw, her eyes wide, she is begging me to run, and she seems too familiar, she is telling me to go, her lips are chapped, there is blood, too much of it, it can't be good, and she is telling me to leave her behind, she is telling me that it's not worth it and a chill, the chill of her hands, of the end of something I never got to say goodbye to washes over me. And then my eyes open and I can feel my heart pounding, the blood rushing through my veins, the adrenaline in my veins, the fire in my veins, the fear in my bones. Who am I to be afraid? The eyes seem to heavy, the room seems to be turning, spinning, and I can't seem to control anything, and from far away Fred's voice comes like the tide, washing away the fear,

"He's fine James, not even a scratch, that's the thing, they don't…"

I swallow, and run a hand over my face, and I can see Fred's eyes follow the movement, watch the shake in my hands, the relief in my eyes, the oxygen comes back,

"Don't what?"

He swallows, "Their not sure who, or _what_ it was…. But it didn't want to hurt him, _it wanted to warn him…."_

My head is turning, my heart rate going one step ahead of reason and thought,

"Warn him of what, what Fred?"

He shakes his head, he seems terrified of the way my hands tremble, of the way my eyes s4earch his, almost desperate, the way the mask slipped off without warning.

My brain is whirring to life, moving a million miles an hour,

"You said Diagon Alley, what time?"

Fred glances at me, eyebrows drawn, and eyes worried

"Your dad was _attacked_ and you're concerned about what time it was?"

I look at him with a look of 'are you stupid' and 'duh' and he shakes his head, eyes rolling,

"Maybe 3 in the morning, he was coming home from work late, he stopped to get a late night coffee"

He watches me curiously, the way my eyes squeeze shut, the way my hands aren't shaking anymore, the way my breath was become steady. And as my eyes close I see the alley, the darkness clinging to the shadows, the quiet scrape of my shoes on the pavement, the doorway lit by candlelight, my hand pale in the blackness knocking on the mahogany, my knuckles pink from the cold, my breath forming clouds, that night sky haunting me above as it gazed down. The way the iron of the knob was cold to the touch, the way my eyes scanned each corner , the ice of the gold watch, my eyes straining to see the time, I remember it was 3:17 the way they let me in, the door closing behind.

He watches me remember, but he does not know what,

"I went to tell you last night, when we got the news but you weren't in the school were you James?"

I glance at him, and I feel him wonder, a question I don't want the answer for, I don't want to have the answer for, and yet there it is on the tip of my tongue, and if I knew in this moment that I would be changing her life forever, our lives forever, I wonder if I would still have said what I did, I wonder if I would have still have allowed her in on a family secret, on a lie of mine, but after all she was all I had left to hide behind, and since my mask was down, its time hers goes up.

I run a hand through my hair, eyes rolling, the moves are forced, and without thinking she becomes a part of the future, a part of our lives, the Potter lives.

"I was with a friend, Rose BlackThorne we went out late, did some work, nothing serious- you're sure it was around 3 in Diagon Alley? Bloody hell right before Hermi's birthday too…"

My eyes close, blocking out the world, and I feel his eyes heavy,

"Rose BlackThorne? Who the hell is Rose BlackThorne?"

His gaze is heavy, and dangerously interested, too close to the truth,

"A nobody….. A nobody to me, we just have a project together, merlin, since when did you care so much about who I talk too?"

He shakes his head, eyes downcast, "Since when did you spend your nights with nobody's and your mornings with girlfriends?"

I lick my lips, my eyes not meeting his, my jawing ticking,

"Did the press catch this?"

He shakes his head, "Nope…."

Sheila runs over arms swinging around me, lips pressing onto the skin of my cheek, and I feel revolted by the touch,

"What are you big boys talking about?"

I can't force a smile, and glance at Fred, he wants to know what I'll do, he wants to know if I'll go, and I know I should but there is some sort of tick, a chip in the back of my mind asking me a million questions, and so I shoot him a see through smile, and answer with my mask painted to perfection,

"Secrets love, were talking about secrets, after all planning a birthday party is our specialty…"

And so we walk with the crowd, empowered with the movement, and our conversation is pushed into the back of our thoughts, considered, at the moment to be forgotten, for aren't all things better ignored until it is absolutely necessary to face them?

And then I push her away and as we come to the grand stair way, I flip through the air, hair falling out of my eyes as I fly through the air, my shirt slipping up to show my defined muscles and land on the banister, my feet single file on the skinny marble and I feel them watch me, everyone, their admiration, their awe, and it drives me crazy with adrenaline, and so I slide, down and down the banister, hands in the air, running through the air, and I flash by people walking down the stairs, and at the base, I flip through the air forward, landing in a crouch, and grinning, I turn back and wink, and I can hear the entire stair well sigh in awe, and I run a hand through my hair turning on my heels and leading the few going to the great hall, the rest go to Hogsmead to shop and live,

And as I stride in, my hands swinging, my friends following me, and there she is,

She sits with her head in a book, her wand out and she reads the incantation, memorising it and then she delicately flicks the piece of wood, and out of it rises a small cloud, but no rain, she screws up her face in confusion and gets rid of it trying again, this time a light drizzle starts and she laughs as the water runs over her, her hair becoming damp, along with her clothes, I watch a droplet of water run down her forehead and onto her eyelash where there it is captured, glowing like liquid silver.

I look away, Sheila catching up, hands wrapping around me from behind, lips grazing my cheek, she has that smile that would electrify any man, but not me, never me. And we go and sit, laughing, bumping shoulders, but as we sit I see it fall, not fall, the owl from my designers drop the package, wrapped in satin, I watch her fingers wrap around it, and the surprise on her face. She looks so beautifully shocked.

And as if blinking I remember the laughter of them as they sowed and pointed out materials, asking me how much I was willing to spend, I remember saying that the price isn't important the quality is. I remember looking out the windows, the streets seem to be calling me, and in them everything looks like a shadow, everything looks like a warning, the way the jewels glint in the light makes the memory almost unforgettable, and I remember imagining her anger as the silk would slip through her fingers, as it would slip over her skin to fit her form perfectly, I remember the way she dared me to find something she could not resist, and now, watching her put down the book, watching her eyes stop scanning the page, watching her fingers go for the fascine I can see her anger before it comes, I can anticipate her shock, after all did she not request the stars? A blanket of them in a jar for special occasions and I can't help but smile, small, and for once innocent.

~Rose POV~

Breakfast is quiet, everyone is already off to Hogsmead, and Veronica still hasn't woken up, but me, I couldn't sleep, his eyes, crystal clear blue haunted me, but the hazel orbs hunted me, and they seemed to oppose each other, maybe even hate each other.

James and his friends sit behind me, Sheila has her head rested on his lap, sleeping as him and his friends talk about their Aunts, Veronica's mothers, Birthday Party.

And as they laugh a package drops from the heavens, landing softy on the table. I stare at it, its huge, monstrous, tall, and not very wide, but not narrow, and covered in red velvet, shining with expense, I see a small tag poking out, covered in white lace and engraved in gold on its crest was my name and there beneath that, is those dreaded initials, shining in the gold of the sun, the stars and those eyes.

And those same eyes see me, watch me recognise the gift, they watch my hands go to the string, gold as well in colour, and undue it, as the velvet, red as blood itself, slips off of the gift, circular in shape, and falls, pooling at its base on the tablecloth.

I look at it, and I feel my lips part, and without knowing a tear, as silver as the object before me slips down my cheek, tracing a path to a forever he is letting me have, he is giving me a gift that is no ordinary object but looks like a dream, like last night was a dream, and every word he said, of my smile, my eyes, legends, and brightness is mirrored in my swimming reflection of the glass.

Yes, glass, for it is a giant, no, not giant but large in size bottle, and the top has a quirk, maybe the size of my fist, and behind the glass, trapped behind the window I peak in, is the sky, blues, silvers, and white clouds shimmer as if real, purples, violets, coppers and emeralds shine, stars, so perfectly depicted shine, as if I could touch them, and there is the moon, its soft light reflecting off of the glass, thrown back at it, back at the sky. I can see the detail of stars that sparkle like diamonds, the wind that seems to move with the silk, it seems as if I am looking at the heavens, jarred and trapped in a bottle for me to unplug, to open, to dare. Do I? It is moving the cloth is alive, enchanted it looks like a dream and I want to scream to shout to yell but I sit paralyzed, unable to look away. I can see the blues, fading into one and other, all classified as a mysterious and other worldly darkness, that seems to beckon me, enchanting me in its spell, as it shines as if on fire, as if cold, and my cheeks feel warm, the tear races a path down my cheek, already wet from the spell earlier.

I remember what I had said, the words seem too unbelievable, unattainable, and yet with a gift like this, where I should be furious, I cannot help but admire, a beauty so unique, so unspoken, how could he? His gaze feels like the weight of the world, and I feel as if I am about to drown,

My hand reaches for the quirk, it comes undone easily, and just beneath it is another note written on white lace paper, with letters etched in gold, words that had happened just yesterday, and I can feel my eyelashes brush my cheek, my heart pounding, my lips part, the air brush against my teeth, my hands tremble, my mind race as fast as my heart, the adrenaline, the sudden glimpse of temptation, and last night I could resist, but here, with the sky just millimetres from my fingertips, with so much riches placed before me like a banquet, a feast for me to devour, how am I supposed to react, what am I supposed to say?

And his voice echoes in my ears, singing through my blood, clouding my senses, and the note reads,

 _I promised you the sky, how I'd capture it, and lock it away in a bottle, so that I could see that smile, so that you could hide beneath these heavens always, and remember that you too can last forever…_

 _J.S.P_

The tear traces over my lips to my chin, and I catch it, slipping my finger underneath the drop of water and letting it be forgotten, and I turn, and I look into those eyes, who have already found mine, and I watch him arch a single eyebrow, and I thank him, with the smile he asked for, but with the smile I feel a part of my will power go, and he sees it, god I know he does, the fear, how scared I am of what it means, and I wonder if he's scared, of me, of my smile, of anything. No, remember Rose, he's James bloody Potter who does not even know what fear looks like even if it hit him in the face. You can't take it, you have to give it back you have to leave it and then I stand and I leave it behind shaking my head back and forth, eyes trained on his, and leave the riches behind, a statement that I cannot be bought, no matter how beautiful, no matter how expensive. And he grins and nods to me, picking up his goblet and raising his glass in a toast, tipping the liquid back with a daring glint in his eye, as if accepting my challenge.

~JAMES POV~

I watch her open it, the way her fingers scrape against the cloth, the delicate motion as the velvet falls, the way she gives a silent gasp, lips parting in amazement. She is beautiful, the word has never applied before for anyone, yes, there are a lot of pretty girls I've known, some have even come close to owning that word, but no one quite like her. She has the same height as Sheila, but it is not her height that defines her, it's her eyes, that could wage a war on anyone, but come alive with a simple nod, that smile that makes my heart beat faster, the way her hair falls to the side, the way it cascades over her shoulders, the way her laugh sounds like bells,

And I watch her open it, and I see the tear, and I wonder what she must be thinking, I am counting the seconds until she comes over and slaps me, I am counting the minutes until she explodes, but after a pause, she simply turns back, curious, frightened, and I already know of what, her words still ring through me _, "A little bit of both…"_

And then she smiles, not full, not daring, not angry, not fake, but wondering, a smile that wonders who I am, a smile that wonders what we are, a smile that wonders what's in the bottle, a smile that hopes it pays for anything I've done, a smile that does not want to be in my debt, and so I raise an eyebrow, and she turns away, standing, picking up her bag she leaves the sky behind, and she walks out of that room, her eyes trained to the floor, her hair slipping behind her, over her right shoulder.

And as she leaves I raise my glass, toasting her uncaring attitude, as she leaves a present that is worth more than one could count and refuses riches worth more than she knows, and yet with a flick of my wand it floats away, up to her room and onto her bed, wrapped up, not this one, Rose, you can't escape this one. And so the challenge is initiated and the beginning of the end is announced.

Fred walks over to me, I watch Sheila dart from shop to shop, girls following her like a flock of sheep and I watch her laugh, and I try hard to feel something, to care, but I can't. I feel my fists form, and my nails bite into my skin, my jaw tighten, and there is some kind of regret.

"Wow there James, take a deep breath, why so tense?"

Fred's voice sounds from far away, and I glance at him, but then look back at Sheila, the way her hair falls, the way her eyes shine when she is happy, and when she is sad, I used to be mesmerized by that, didn't I? Or was I fooling myself, like I always seem to be. The act and the truth often become a confusing one that I can't focus on, that I can't decide on.

Fred shakes his head, red hair flying in every direction, his voice soft and friendly,

"Is she the one?"

I lick my lips and let my fingers unfold, a drop of blood slipping from them and crashing through the air, hitting the floor like a bullet.

"How do you ever know? I thought she was this summer, but the summer seems like years ago, and yet I owe to her to try harder,"

He raises his eyebrows,

"You don't owe her anything Jamie,"

I sigh, running a hand through my hair,

"It's complicated…"

He scoffs, rolling his eyes,

"Then let me simplify it, she can't handle you, merlin, she can't even handle the little bit of you she does know, where do you think this will go?"

I glance at him, his eyes burn into mine, and I watch them, the strength, the serenity, the fire,

"I don't know, she is really sweet…"

He laughs, but it's not because it's funny, it's because he finds it ironic,

"Come now James, let's be real, you like her because she is actually in love with you, and some part of you thinks that that makes her special, makes you special"

I shake my head, eyes downcast, and there is a rage in my veins, too much going on at once,

"Doesn't it?"

He laughs again, snorting,

"No girl has ever loved you before, they've loved the image but not you, and you think she loves you for the you, not the money, the fame, the power, the title, the power?"

I lick my lips, arching an eyebrow,

"I know she cares deeper than that, she always wants to know more, none of the others did, I think she is worth it, maybe…"

He nods, eyebrows rising,

"Fine, let's say she does, can she handle it, she is not strong, or brave, not like you, god you two don't even have the same vocabulary"

My eyes trace the floor, my hair falling into my eyes, the cold of the frosty air not reaching me, and Fred steps closer, a hand going onto my back, and then he speaks softer, kinder,

"James, when we were little I was always jealous of you, everyone loved you, everyone except you…. And now you are so brave you don't think you are allowed to show some weakness, but you don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, you're allowed to have a break, even if they never told you that you could…"

I feel my eyes close and I tilt my head back, chin pointing to the heavens,

"What chaos do we live in Fred, just caused by one bitter man that couldn't stand being considered to be less…."

Fred sighs, and pats my back, and then turns to leave, stopping,

"Voldemort only took the chaos already there and brought it together into a movement…"

I tilt my head back farther, and whisper, so soft I wonder is he hears it, but I see Fred shake his head and leave after I say it, leaving me empty watching the bustle of Hogsmead beneath me, and there, just beyond the shops is another girl, slipping into the old bookstore of antics, I see her blues flash, her eyes dart, and I feel something else, merlin knows what, an emotion that I have never felt before.

As Fred leaves my words follow him,

"I could grow to love her, one day, I just need a chance, just a moment to think, Fred, because being loved makes you feel so alive, I've never felt that alive"

But I see her slip into the shop, a rose in the crowd of red, and I wonder, just for a moment I see,

" _James?" Her hands are warm, holding me close, helping me take my jacket off, smiling,_

 _"_ _How was work?" I feel my head shake, I feel her arms, the warmth they cause, the desire, the familiarity, her eyes are like an ocean, I love sailing, sailing that ocean, finding the horizon line, exploring their depths,_

 _"_ _I wish you could have come," She shakes her head, eyes becoming sad, empty and she steps away, head still shaking, and I see her begin to change, shape, and her eyes hold warning,_

 _"_ _You know I can't" I feel a fear, and she shapes, her body changing, her eyes turn dark, and her hands worn, and her hands, I know those hands so well, I remember them grabbing me, chasing me through my nightmares._

"James?"

I glance over at Veronica, her eyes are expectant,

"What?"

I sigh, rubbing my eyes,

"You know if you listened to me a little more, you would do better just generally in life,"

I smile and ruffle her hair,

"Is that so cousin?"

She grins and scans me, eyes running me up and down,

"I said why aren't you cold?"

I glance down at me, I wear combat boots and black panst, a red shirt with long sleeves, the silk so thin you can see each muscle, Sheila liked it so I put it on,

Veronica raises an eyebrow and flicks her wand handing me a tailered long black coat, the buttons shine with expense, everything on me seems to always shine with expense, I slip it on,

"Thanks"

She bumps my shoulder,

"I'm always looking out for my favourite cousin, even if you're a little weird,"

I chuckle, my breath forming clouds in the air,

"Don't tell, what would people say?"

She smiles and we walk together, away from the look out, and dwoni the streets, the eyes watching, judging, following my every movement, mirroring my every move.

She bites her lip and looks at me out of the corner of her eye,

"Did you hear about your dad?"

I run a hand through my hair and for a moment I contemplate answering with the truth, but today the sun is too bright and her eyes are too curious,

"Hear what hun? That he has the kindest eyes or has a dimple on his left cheek?"

And I give her a smile and walk away I feel her eyes follow me as I leave,

And I see the little book store and without hesitation I open the door stepping inside.

~Rose POV~

The shop is beautiful, I love the books, my hands trace them eyes fluttering shut, the weight of the world lost in the touch of the worn leather bounds. I can hear my soft breath in and out as if the writings give me life, oxygen air to breath. And then a voice like flames cuts through my oxygen, the flames taking all the oxygen in the room and leaving me shuddering,

"You going to wear it?"

I lick my lips, and feel my eyes brush open, suddenly my arms feel heavy, laden with books of all sorts and all shapes and sizes. And I walk, fingers lightly running over each binding,

"Never, and if I did it wouldn't be for you,"

He chuckles, he must be on the other side of the bookshelf, I can see his eyes glancing through the books, at me,I can feel the weight of his gaze, the weight of his unknown thoughts,

"You said you'd take out the sky and wrap yourself up in it, as it blankets you,"

My calm and quiet thoughts are shattered and I walk onwards, hands and fingertips brushing against each of their spines, and I hear his hands match my movement, the only thing between us being the books, the pages, the words, and of course the world,

"I'm aware of what I said, but I also remember not saying I would wear anything you gave me, no matter how beautiful, because I don't need the sky, I have what I need, I don't need your wealth or your gifts, ever…"

His hand slips through a gap in the books lightning fast and snatches the top book of my stack off, his reflexes like the wind itself, slipping between the wood, slipping between my focus, and his nimble fingers flip the book over reading the title, his smile electric,

"Do you need, aah, Nombs folk Dances in the 13th century?"

I groan, and run a hand through my hair, pushing it behind my ears, I realise we have stopped walking, and shake my head, pulling an answer out of thin air, with him it always seems to be a battle of wits, but since when was there an always?

"No, I don't, but that book will only cost me 2 Knuts, but your dress cost your family how much?"

He bends down, eyes matching mine so we are on the same level, and his hand reaches through the gap in the book shelf a long finger twirling a piece of my hair, eyebrows arched,

"Cost me Rose, it cost me _nothing,_ a couple cents thrown away for a good cause, you worry too much,"

I scoff, pushing his hand away, and pretending to focus on scanning the shelves looking for elven furniture in comparison to muggle inventions during the enlightenment, while answering, packing a punch into each word,

"I understand the true expense of life, and the waste, pointless that people spend on things they don't need, there are people in this world James, in London even that starve on the streets, that beg for a penny, and instead of helping them you waste money on things that won't be used…"

He shakes his head and walks as I walk, his eyes flashing between the books, like daggers searching me, interrogating me, making me feel intoxicated,

"Then don't let it be a waste, wear it, take a stance, do you really believe that no one should have what they want, even if they can? Should we all be begging?"'

I shake my head, eyes meeting his like fire and ice,

"It's not fair,"

He licks his lips, head shaking to match mine, mocking me,

 _"_ _What is?"_

I stop walking turning to face him and the book shelf, and I take a step closer, so only the bookshelf separates us,

"Being a little bit selfless, letting someone else get the benefits,"

He arches an eyebrow, and leans closer whispering to me while grinning, as if it's some big secret,

"Aren't you benefitting?"

He's mocking me again, and I feel my voice begin to raise, my eyes wide with hatred,

"Do you think I'm _homeless_ , begging you to shower me with riches? Am I that desperate to you?"

He shakes his head, eyes soft,

"I wanted to do something nice, something that would blow you away,"

I nod, stepping closer, our eyes peering over the books to glare at each other's,

"And it did, for the 5 seconds it took me to realise that you wasted hundreds of galleons on me, little, nobody me,"

And then the smile of his slips, and his hand slips through, and over the books to brush my hand, the contact catches my breath and my lips part,

"You're someone, how many times do I have to tell you that you're someone,"

And I pull away, turning away, walking onwards, and he walks parallel to me, watching me, my voice is soft, demanding, but with a soft tremble,

"No James,"

I stop walking and look into the books, not at him, through him, as if deep in thought, but my voice holds a warning,

"I shouldn't be someone to you, I shouldn't be anyone to you, so I think I should make that clear, this, whatever the hell this is, needs to end, because I had a life, and for a moment there I thought it was perfect, I chose who I spent my time with, _I chose them,"_

He tilts his head, shaking his head, eyebrows coming together,

"You'll never know what living is if you don't take a chance,"

I laugh, looking anywhere but at him,

"But with you? Potter, _you don't even know me,"_

He smiles, so soft, so utterly stunning, and this time it is his voice that is soft, his voice that drives me mad,

"I know you like your cookies straight from the oven, that you hate liars, but you love the truth, no matter how harsh, I know that you are the happiest when it's just you and a book, in your own little world, I know that you are brilliant, that you would fight for the people you love without a second glance,"

 _"_ _James"_

"That you would throw yourself in front of a bus for a certain Malfoy, that you only smile when no one's watching, and that you hate me, and my family, that you judge us because of our money, our fame and you constantly forget that my father is the best man anyone has ever known and he worked, we all worked to be where we are today, Rose,"

I shake my head, eyes trained on his, the bookshelf is forgotten as so is my quest for elven furnishings, and this time it is my hand, timid, and terrified that reaches for his and I feel my fingers interlace with his, the energy coursing between us, in a moment where we forget the world, and I feel my lips part and the words come like a hurricane,

"I don't, I don't hate you, merlin, I just, I think if I ever had that much influence I would be spending it to do something else, something good, to make a difference, don't you want to change the world? James, you can't live forever of you don't have the backbone to make a difference,"

He arches an eyebrow,

"The backbone?"

"Yes James, that bravery that people say you have, not the act, or the joke, but the steal behind the flesh,"

He shakes his head, and I feel his fingers let go of my hand, and the energy end, and I wonder if I have gone too far, if this strange man before me will snap, and for some reason I feel a chill of fear that he will. His voice is harsh,

"What would you know about sacrifice, you don't know anything about my life, and for once Rose, don't judge a book by its cover, I thought you were smarter than that,"

I shake my head, eyes downcast, voices hushed,

"I use my mind to deduce what I see, and I see a fraud, a little boy that has no idea what hardship is,"

He chuckles,

"And you know me so well because?"

My head keeps shaking, my eyes keep moving,

"I don't know you, but I know of you, and that if I were you I would spend every moment, of every day being grateful, helping the ones who don't have, spending that money you have on the ones that don't have, speaking up, speaking against, saying things that make me want to believe,"

"And believe in what?"

I raise my eyes to his and reach for his hand again, finding air,

"Believe in something worth my time, worth my smile, not a dress, not some money, not a jacket, not that, but a word, a sentence, a paragraph, a letter, an action,"

"And what do you think people would say, would they really listen to me, or would they think I know nothing of the hardships of life, like you think, isn't it better if I just smile, just walk,"

"And what will that change, who will that save?"

He finally meets my gaze, finally taking the offering of my hand,

"Me, or am I worth nothing?"

I stare at him and I can't breathe, I can't look away,

"Everyone is worth something, you're worth something….Oh Potter what a mess you make…"

He smiles and I feel his thumb brush over my knuckles, sending sparks up my arm, his eyes hold a grief and for a moment I worry that something happened. And so I let his hand go, resting the books on a counter behind me and I walk to the end of the bookcase and then around it, till we face each other, nothing between us. And I wait for him to speak. When he does his voice is soft,

"I don't know how to show people that I care, when I was younger, I would train a lot and whenever I did something well they'd get me a gift, and somehow the gift meant more than just what it looked like, it meant figurative things, emotions, and meanings. I don't. I didn't mean to offend you, and one day when you are feeling brave enough put it on, the dress, or sell it, give it to the poor, all those people begging for the penny's…"

I stare at him, and glance down,

"I don't want to give it away; it's too special James…"

He looks me over, and smiles soft,

"One day Rose BlackThorne you'll see how much we are alike, but until that day I look forward to battling you every moment…."

I roll my eyes and watch him leave, but I call after him, my voice soft,

"Potter, you forget that you did blow me away, and 5 seconds is like a lifetime,"

He stops and looks back, and winks, his right eye dashing shut,

"I didn't think I'd last one, but you continue to surprise me Black…"

And then he's gone. And I stare after him, my breath quick, his words replaying,

 _I thought you were smarter, am I worth nothing, its better if I just smile, know nothing_

I blink hard, and I look down at my hands, the room seems to be spinning, and I can hardly breathe, and I watch the books fall, crashing to the floor like a hurricane,

My hands are shaking; I can feel the chill in the air run up my spine,

And I am out of the store in seconds, out of the constricting room, and up and away, my feet loud on the floor, going and going and then I stop, my hands going to my face, running over them, and I look around, there on the bed is the dress the straps are thin, it is dark blue, the tops is black and it fades into blues and whites and purples, it looks like a dream, the train long, the measurements perfect, the diamonds and the sapphires haunting.

And I swallow hard, my hand going to my head, someone clears their throat and I turn, his hair is red, his eyes curious,

"I'm Fred Weasley, and you are?"

I blink slow and glance at the dress, and then at his hand, held between his fingertips is the note James wrote, the white lace shining with expense, the gold writing reflecting off of the walls. I swallow hard, and glance at his eyes,

"I'm Rose BlackThorne, you must be looking for Veronica, she's at Hogsmead…"

He shakes his head, and looks me up and down,

"I have a funny question for you, Rose BlackThorne…"

I busy myself, not looking him in the eye,

"As I said Veronica is in Hogsmead…"

He shakes his head, eyes never leaving mine, "But I'm looking for you…"

I shake my head, "Ask your question… After all here I am"

He smiles and steps forward, I feel myself step back,

"Did James take you to Diagon Alley last night to get you that dress?"

I feel my heart skip a beat, the answer is no, I remember last night like a sliver of heaven, the way I found my way downstairs climbing into bed, watching the stars unable to fall asleep, wondering what he was doing, wondering why he liked my smile. I toss my hair, and arch an eyebrow,

"James who?"

He tilts his head to the right, "Potter, James Sirius Potter… Did he take you out until 4 p.m. on a school night, Rose BlackThorne?"

There is something in the way he watches me that makes me think that this is bigger than me, the sadness in James' eyes, and the specific address of Diagon Alley that this is bigger than us, that whatever this is. And if only I knew that what I say will change my future, everyone's future, but James was right about one thing, I can play my role, and so I smile, arching an eyebrow, why, merlin knows, I don't know why, because maybe some part of me felt like I owed James something for the dress, for his honesty, for the way he never pushes me too far.

"Of course, we went out late, got back to the dorms around 4:15, we were doing a project, he offered to get me a present, and had this already made as a surprise,"

He steps forward, and raises his eyebrows, watching me gesture to the dress,

"And while you were in Diagon Alley did you witness an attack?"

I raise my chin, heart beating a million miles an hour and I smile my best, and pretend to look confused, which isn't that hard, because I am confused,

"Of course not, an attack on who?"

He shakes his head and goes to the door way only turning back to look me over,

"I've never seen someone lie for him before, which either means you're stupid or you care, and since you're in Ravenclaw somehow I think it's the second one…"

I feel my lips part, and I am left alone in the room, as the note is left behind fluttering to the floor, looking like the feather of an angel's wing. What have I gotten myself into?


	13. A day that goes down in my history

Chapter 13: A day that goes down in my history

~Rose's POV~

"You look beautiful,"

My heart skips a beat, as if the world comes to a halt. Each letter, the hush sound of the air flying between his lips as he breathes, the way each word curves around an emotion, locking it in place. I can feel the world come to a still, and I am caught in his arms, in his words. Yes the world, the vast space of hell and heaven and mortals all lost together, but there walking through the red and the shadows are the stars, the rare few that go above and beyond. That voice belongs with them, but the person does not.

The voice stops me in my tracks. I feel my breath quicken, my bag clutched in my hand, my hair high on my head. The robes and the wizard clothing are left behind, the muggle attire is tighter, clutching my skin like it wants to suffocate me, it is more mortal, making me look ordinary, another girl in the crowd, another face on the street, but here, surrounded by the robes, the eyes follow me, glancing in surprise before looking away, lost in their own patterns of their life. The day has left me behind and I stand at the head of the future, 4 steps from the train, and 40 miles from a new family. And with my back to him, to the high doors, the arch of stone, the sun gleaming down from the heavens, peaking out, I watch the sun, the world and then I turn.

We stare at each other, and then I glance down at myself, I'm wearing muggle attire, the clothes may be form fitting but is nothing compared to anyone else here. And I shake my head, eyebrows raised,

" _Right_ , bye Potter,"

He rolls his eyes as if he expected that response and runs in front of me, putting his hand out, an eyebrow arched in defiance,

"Where are you going?"

I stop, and I am the one rolling my eyes,

"What makes you think I'd tell you?"

He grins,

"Is it such a big secret?"

His voice is holding humour, but it sends a chill down my spine, so I force a see through smile, fake, showing just how much of a liar I am, and give the vaguest answer I could think of. And I answer, yes. _Why?_ Because if he knew I didn't have parents, if he knew I didn't have a family, if he knew where I was going, to whom I would see, I don't think he'd like me very much, _not that he likes me_.

"To town, I need to buy a few things, stock up,"

He glances me up and down, and runs his hand over his jaw; my eyes refuse to follow the motion. And he watches me as if I am some piece of meat.

"I can think of other things you can buy, _for free_ …"

I scoff, and push past him, head shaking as I take the stairs two at a time.

"Eww, sometimes I think you can't be serious, and then there you are _being…_ "

I glance at him, looking at his steely gaze, the smile, _that bloody smile,_ the playful hint of the joke reflected in the sparks, his casual posture, his arched brow,

 _"_ _Being?"_

I narrow my eyes, lip caught between my teeth, and then my eyes find the floor, my hands, anything. And I am shaking my head again, and the word, like always slips out,

 _"_ _A bastard…_ And things, important things, and unimportant things, and you know what else Potter, things that you don't concern _you,_ "

He grins, teeth white as pearls, as clear as glass, perfect, like everything, too perfect and I watch his hands find the rail and he is walking slowly towards me, the sun making his skin look golden kissed.

"Things Hogsmead doesn't have?"

I nod, trying my best to ignore his advancing, and my eyes are wide, eyebrows raised, lips pursed,

"Muggle things…"

He steps closer, eyes searching mine, just a hairs breath away,

 _"_ _What kind of things?"_

I take a quickened breath,

"Things…"

 _"_ _Like-?"_

I look down, and then up, into those eyes, and throw my head back, sighing, a hand running over my face,

"Since when did you care?"

He chuckles, his tongue running over his teeth, lips pulled back in a smile, or maybe a smirk, in the bright light I can't tell,

"If you think this is me caring, then you're in for a _big surprise,"_

I feel my arms cross over my chest, I feel my bag hit my side, I feel the breeze run between and through us, I feel the eyes suddenly and it scares me, of course they do not watch me they watch him, and they wonder why he looks like that, why he was born like that, I can feel their eyes looking through me like I am see through, and I hate it, I want to be seen, I want to scream look at me, but they look at him and so I ignore, what else can one do? I tilt my head, an eyebrow arched,

 _"_ _Am I?"_

 _"_ _Maybe_ , maybe if you tell me what things-"

I search those hazel orbs, and I laugh, eyes rolling,

"You couldn't' handle it, even if I did tell _you,"_

And I see a glimmer of interest that I have never seen before, something that shows a deeper want to know, a deeper need to understand, how can one person have so many layers, be so fascinating, so deep, that it's impossible to know if you've hit the floor yet, or you are still falling, there must be a floor, a heart right? His voice holds that interest, and he towers over me, head lowered, I hate that it looks like he is looking down at me, am I less? Yet his voice disarms me and I am lost, before I remember how to swim and so he is the air, the limbs that help hold me up,

 _"_ _Let me be the judge of that,"_

His voice is like a spark, causing whatever fire that brews inside of me to ignite, and I feel myself lean forward, chin tilted up, eyes wide, lips parted in a smile that mirrors his, but I cannot capture the devils sneer as much as I might try, can anyway? My voice sounds silly next to his, but I don't dare show how weak I feel, a weakness is a fear,

"I don't trust your judgement,"

He licks his lips, I follow the movement, guilt igniting and feeding the flames, and I feel my eyes water, and blink desperately for oxygen, for a sliver of control, but he will never give me anything that I want, just what I don't. He takes all the air in the room, in the world away from me, and leaves me craving for more, wanting for more,

His voice is like silk, like velvet, it reminds me of when the snow starts falling and I go outside and can't help but enjoy the satisfying chill of energy that goes through me, even with no snow, he still makes it possible,

"Then take a chance, or is the _Ravenclaw Princess_ not trusting the _Gryffindor King?"_

I bite my lip, eyebrows raising, I can't help but be amused, lips tilting up at the edges, dimples forming,

"Do you always talk about yourself in the third person?"

He laughs, head ducking, eyes wrinkling, hair falling into his eyes, those eyes, his hands capturing my attention as they cross over his chest, muscles becoming well defined,

"When you have reached the amount of fame that I have, _which you will_ , you learn to value yourself,"

I nod, mouth open, eyes sparking with laughter, lips smiling,

"James, you mean becoming a complete _egotistical jerk_ , because I'll pass on that opportunity,"

He shakes his head, brow arched,

"It's an opportunity of _a life time_ , you sure you want to skip out on it?"

I stare at him and swallow hard, for some reason that joke strikes me hard and I shake my head, eyes darting away,

"I should go, James- _Potter_ enjoy your weekend,"

He chuckles, head shaking, eyes wrinkling at the edges, and steps forward, eyes finding mine,

"Since when are we so polite,"

I shake my head turning and walking away from the fire, and I feel the air come back, but he is never done, and so he calls after me, a voice like oxygen itself, I am desperate for it, bleeding for it,

"Rose, wherever you're going, be careful, it's a dangerous world out there,"

I swallow hard, and feel my lips fall back into the straight line, the forced smile seems to disappear as if never there, and his lips stay in a smirk but his eyes, oh his eyes, they tell me stories and adventures I have never witnessed, and his eyes tell me he knows that everything we have just said is a lie, an act, after all he is the actor, superior to us all, in everything it seems. And before I can turn to leave his words capture me again, he continues, head tilted, hair falling into those eyes,

"Wherever you're going keep a steady step, and your chin up, and you'll be fine,"

I nod, and my eyes find his, the connection drives us mad, or maybe I am imagining, but I think he means it, and that maybe he gets it, maybe? No. Those eyes are empty shells as the lashes brush the high arch of his cheekbone, and when his eyes open, the fire is gone, and there is an actor, as if a blink erases a man- no a boy I'd like to know. And so I try the honesty thing, and I give him advice, like a friend would, except weren't not friends, were not anything, not on my watch.

"James, good luck with that party and maybe if the night is young I'll stop by in a pretty dress, with a nice smile full of holes, unprepared for forever…"

He smiles, genuine, but over with the conversation or maybe under the mask he wants me to keep going, to keep talking, to keep saying, but I have nothing to say. His words hit me like bullets, the arch of his brow takes the air from my lungs, the wind in is hair makes my hands clammy, the part of his lips makes my cheeks flush and yet his words are what destroy me, the words are what matter, they write you a history, they write you a story, after all they are writing you my story.

I continue, my voice haunting, the steps are miles between us, and the trains whistle and bell is like a fire alarm going off in my head,

"And don't make the party something mortal, make it unforgettable, make everything unforgettable and you might have a chance at forever…

His voice sounds like the echo of a dream, as if I have heard him say it a thousand times, and I am consumed, the whistle keeps blowing, the wind rushing like an energy between us,

"Since when are you allowed to give me advice?"

And a real smile shoots like lightning over my face, lighting his eyes up with the same flames burning in my heart, burning, no raging.

"Since always Potter, remember? Since _forever…."_

And I'm gone, the train pulling out, the smoke gushing into the world and he disappears behind it as if hiding in the ash after the disaster I've left. Lost in the fog of my mind there he somehow still resides, those eyes still bring to life, that mind, so brilliant, who is he?

The train's wheels turning, the steel on iron, the sparks flying, the wooden train tracks thumping in a rhythmic pattern beneath my feet, writing my story with every bump. I watch him disappear, his hands in his pockets, eyes watching, not me, but the world, and Sheila runs up to him, eyes alive, her eyes remind me of my own as I look through my reflection in the glass and to him and her.

Her hands ruffle his hair, her smile, large, but he doesn't look at her, for he already has her, people that have everything in life always seem to go after the one thing that they don't or can't have, for adventure, for fun, for the simple dare of life, for the challenge. Am I challenge?

She follows his gaze seeing a train pulling into the distance with one passenger with a promise of things later tonight, a dare that somehow we talked about without words. She sees him millions of miles away, where I don't think even he knows and she extends a finger running it along his jaw and turning his head, her feet going onto her tip toes and tilting her head up, lips parting as they kiss, captured, and I watch his eyes stay open, looking down at her, blinking shut, and smiling, pulling her under his arm and walking away.

I go to turn away, I go to walk into a different world, but one thing stops me, he looks back, right at me, and his eyes hold a haunted look, a lie that I don't want to understand, and I wonder for a moment what dangers he was speaking of, referring to the poor, myself, my tongue or the Forgotten Ones I swallow hard, and turn on my heels.

The carriage is empty, velvet seats clean and shining, undented. I run my hand over the soft fabric, lips parted and I tilt my head back, and look up at the roof, as I feel the train pull away, wheels turning like a mind field, carrying me to the new world, to the muggle world, the silence of the train leaves me terrified. Normally there is a bustle, voices loud and running feet through the long train, but empty now, with just me, myself and I, so I feel abandoned and scared.

I sit, my bag dropping next to me, and I close the door, listening to the soft scraping of the glass on its hinges, the soft squeak of it shutting. And I tilt my head back, hands going to my face, hiding from the silence for a moment, my hand goes to my bag, rummaging through and finding the ear buds, the technology, advanced, with the 'apple' icon on the white wiring seems almost foreign to me, and yet still they go into my ears, the music turns on, and in my head I count the seconds of silence until the song starts and the world explodes,

One

The wheels turn under me, the world flashing by outside the window, blurred with frost, you can faintly hear the wind rushing by if you strain your ears, the way the leaves of heavy branched trees hit the side of the train, the scrape of pebbles under the turning iron, the bend in the tracks,

Two

Faint footsteps outside my compartment door, the faint but heavy fall of each foot defines that the person is tall, strong, masculine, each fall of each step sounds like thunder in my ears, but I am listening to the silence, and those footsteps are not a part of the silence, they are a part of a different world, the world that we are heading towards, but a part of the world that has wands, magic coursing through the air, by now I should be preparing myself for the person to come in, to greet me, but I listen to the silence, unaware of the approaching soon to be stranger,

Three

The door opens, our eyes meet, he looks at me like he fears me, and I him, for we know not who each other are, one person brings us together and he was left behind on the platform, his own golden eyes unaware of the conversation between us, and we fear each other because of the words exchanged, the reality of words we will pretend don't exist, that's what we do best…. _Right?_

"Rose?"

One breath, one blink, two more hours on a train heading to two different destinations, two different people, two different paths, crashing to a halt in a moment, one moment, and three seconds away from silence, three seconds past escape, three seconds that seemed like eternity.

"Frank Weasley, right? I'm not good with names…"

He laughs, nodding, his hair is red, like a carrot, with brown mixed between, but unlike Potters it doesn't hang in his eyes, but stays back, shorter, showing off a high forehead, but he is smaller than James, or maybe he just has a smaller ego and personality, either way I still feel intimidated, even though he is smiling, his clothing casual. Unlike Potter he doesn't dress like a King but more like a wizard, wearing black robes, over muggle clothing.

He nods, standing awkwardly in the door way, not crossing the threshold, I'm not surprised, or perhaps I am, after all he was rather hostile last time we met.

His voice is still maturing, dipping from one note to another, high and low at the same time, he sounds more regular, as if I could mistake him for an average teenager, an average guy, but our previous conversation forces me to remember that all of them know too much, and the realization keeps me on my toes, ready for anything he'll throw at me.

"You look on edge, _you scared?"_

I glance down, and then up at him, arching an eyebrow, and shake my head slow,

"Not yet…. _I wasn't aware you liked me much?"_

He nods, glancing at the seat and back at me, but stays standing, which I admire, restraint, respect for my space, waiting bashfully to be invited in to sit, Potter would already be splaying himself across the velvet, most likely half undressed and grinning, they are very different for best friends, for cousins, Fred isn't as confident, or maybe he is in a different more subtle way, he still has the smile, the airs, but not to the extent where it is unbearable. Where it will drive you mad.

When he speaks again, his voice is full of laughter, and I can't help but smile too, the laughter of a young boy who just wants to live, it's appealing in a way I don't quite get.

"I don't like you at all, but, I respect that you are loyal to James, _does that count for anything?"_

I smile, warm, inviting and look him up and down,

 _"_ _Why not?_ Though I have a feeling that you are in for a nasty surprise,"

He looks confused, and scrunches his eyebrows together, forming a crease in his brow, his eyes crossing over his nose so that he looks ridiculous, and again my heart warms to it, he acts so nonchalant, I have never seen Potter confused, funny yes, comical, yes, stupid, _YES,_ but not confused, not open to the fact that he may not know something, and I appreciate the human quality Fred has, how can I not?

"I don't like surprises, unless I'm the one doing the surprising,"

I nod solemnly, and cross my legs, Fred's eyes do not follow the movement, but James' eyes would have, so much that I would have felt on edge, scared, excited, but here, with Fred and I there is not boundary I am scared he will cross simply because he does not act like there is a need for one,

"The surprise is, _I don't know Potter at all,_ in fact, I barely know what to think of what I do know, so loyal is too big of a word to classify me and him in one sentence, and plus its very rude to group strangers in a sentence anyways if you don't know the whole story,"

He laughs again, high pitched, breathy, not like satin, not so perfect that you sit there and contemplate his existence, again I am awed by the striking difference between the two, _how could I not be?_

"No wonder he noticed you, you're just like him,"

I scoff, mouth dropping open and cross my arms over each other, tossing my hair, eyebrows raised, my breath choked as I try to breath, sarcasm dripping off each of my words, so thick I wonder if he knows I'm joking,

 ** _"_** ** _What?_** There you go again, putting him and I next to each other, _after all who ever would be the equal of the infamous James Serious Potter?"_

He nods, pretending to be solemn, but the grin, the laughter stays mirrored in our eyes, mirrored because in a moment like this, I have again found a friend in a foe, or more so a stranger, with heavy footsteps, and a traveller going our own separate ways, paths crossing for only seconds, worth remembering.

"No one, the legend himself rises in his golden chariot above us commoners, who could ever say they know him? Or are his equal when he himself invented sarcasm, charisma and beauty, _or so they say,"_

I laugh, teeth flashing,

" _So they say…"_

There is an awkward pause and we watch each other, me and Fred Weasley, his eyes are bright green, electrifying, and mine change with the tide, undecided like my heart.

I clear my throat softly, and raise an eyebrow at him,

"Are you going to wait outside that door all day, or come sit?"

He grins, and the moment of indecision is over and he pushes the door wider, slipping in and taking a seat opposite of me, he sits awkwardly, not perched, but not sprawled with cocky confidence, smooth and dangerous like James, more frozen, nervous of the girl in front of him, or the small space of the compartment, or maybe just the fact that we know absolutely nothing about each other and yet the thing that brings us together, him, makes us both more awkward, but his words break the ice, and it is worth it, because the conversation feel so normal and nice, taking my mind from my destination,

"I was wondering when you would invite me in; _you took your awful time,"_

I smile, and nod slowly, sarcasm again like liquid fire in my voice,

"Well you know, you never know who you can trust, and I am starting to seriously think you are bipolar, _after all wasn't it just yesterday you were hating me?"_

He nods, laughing, voice cracking as he speaks, and for some reason I like the imperfect speech, the bad accent, that is way too heavy but I couldn't care less, he acts normal, and it is refreshing,

"Who says I _don't_ hate you?"

I shrug, eyebrows raising, but still smiling, lips upturned, his eyes go to my ears, and he does the adorable confused facial expression again, I can't help but find it endearing, as if he is a little brother than needs educating desperately,

Again his voice is deep, gravely, and then suddenly high, like a roller coaster you never know what to expect,

"What are those, in your ears?"

I widen my eyes, and put my hand over my mouth, grinning and trying to look shocked,

"You don't know? I'm kidding, _I'm kidding_ , they are a muggle thing, you can hear music through them,"

He truly does look awed, mouth open in shock, and I watch his reaction with a sort of kindness and kindship I don't understand,

"Why do you wear them?"

I laugh, eyebrows coming together, saying the following words in a 'duh' voice,

 _"_ _So I can listen to music?"_

He nods, and then shakes his head, not understanding,

"Why don't you listen to the silence?"

I pause, my smile slips and I blink long, and tilt my head to the side, looking at him curiously, and shake my head, as if now I am confused, am I?

"I don't know… I guess the silence scares me…"

He nods slowly, and then he grins, suddenly, laughing, under his breath,

 _"_ _What?!"_

I look at him like he is some alien creature, as he laughs at me, or maybe with me, when he answers it is choked with giggles, yes giggles, his laugh ranges from no sound, to short fits of high pitched wailing, so one would think he is dying or having a heart attack, just his laugh is amusing, no wonder James keeps him around, his innocence, or lack thereof is funny, he is somehow a different type of perfect that I don't yet understand,

"James is scared of the silence too,"

He says, finally, after he caught his breath, and he watches my reaction, or perhaps he is just good at watching,

"Is he?"

He nods slow, smiling softly, teeth flashing, I can't help but notice they aren't as white as James' are, they are more normal, the word seems overused, but applies in too many ways, he is so mortal that it is comforting, his normalcy is also unique, funny, everything he does,

"Yeah, he fears the silence because then he hears everything, he says that's why he likes being loud, noisy, stupid, then the silence can't hear him and he can't hear him. _An odd one right?"_

I look at him, and feel my stomach turn, why does that sound so very familiar? I swallow the lump in my chest, and smile softly back, nodding fast many times, head bobbing like a lunatic,

"Yeah, I mean that wouldn't be the first word to come to mind when I think of him, but yeah, _not that I think of him, at all….."_

He grins and raises his eyebrow, I feel myself cringe at my own words, waiting for his response,

"Does a certain Rose think my cousin's handsome?"

I feel myself blush and look away, raising an eyebrow slowly I study the ground,

"Do you know a single woman who does not notice _his dashing looks?"_

He laughs, soft, not musical, but rougher, with edges, and texture, bumps and heart and soul, all mixed into the breathless sound, it sounds natural, not too good to be true.

"And now the Rose is a woman? Does that mean she is in full bloom?"

I pause and glance at him long, taking him in, the words do not flow naturally from his lips, as if not his words, someone else's, I swallow hard, again, and look down at my hands, the fingers entwining together in a pattern that catches my eyes, why do the fingers form together in the way they do, tracing the oblivion of my palm.

The pause lasts some time, it lasts decades, passing by in the breath of a moment, he watches out the window, laughing at something deep in his thoughts. And the minutes go bye, finally I speak up, my voice soft like silk, and for once my own voice reminds me of his, James Potters, so soft, so smooth, spoken as if I can control the situation, but as well light, joking, as best I can to continue a dying conversation,

"So where are you going, heading to muggle London on a Sunday?"

He shakes his head, bright eyes finding mine, and then the window, grinning ear to ear,

"It's my Aunt's Birthday, Hermione, we had the celebration, a family gathering just before school started, but on the actual day we could not be there, most of us going to Hogwarts, busy, working,"

I nod quietly, and tilt my head,

"I thought James was planning that..?"

He laughs, and finally I see a similarity, he throws his head back, just like James does when he actually laughs, except the movement with James looks like fire, as if the world could fall to pieces as just one glance,

"James and I are often just thought about as 'James', though I am somewhere behind him in the shadows, _promise,"_

I nod slow, and watch him carefully,

"What is it like to be in the shadow of someone you love?"

He watches me closely; the smile slipped, the smile gone,

"If you stick around with him for a few more years someone will ask you that same question and I wonder what you will answer,"

I shake my head, eyes not finding his,

"There is only one small problem, _I am afraid I have sworn to despise him for eternity,"_

He laughs, his eyes crinkling, as he laughs, and I can't help but smile at the small gesture,

 _"_ _Eternity is a long time_ , you sure your will power will last that long?"

I watch him, and I breath deep, smiling soft, and then I duck my head, considering what to say next, how to react, and then I smile big,

"Life takes its course; I am only here for the ride,"

He nods slow, and looks to the floor and then my eyes,

"So where is life taking you now?"

The question I dread, waiting for it the entire ride, trying to find a good way to lie to those innocent, trusty green eyes, I lick my lips, the movement slow, his eyes don't stray from mine, so he is honest, he is not interested, not like that, and I wait for me to be disappointed, but I am not, thank god, I am almost happy, friends, a word a value, I want more of them, people who love you just for… And while Scorpius moves somewhere in my mind, he is different, the us, that he and I create is different,

"To London, these things that give my ears music need to be replaced,"

The soft look of wonder graces his face again; I watch his freckled cheeks warm softly, as he shakes his head,

"I should apologise for how I treated you the other day…."

I nod slow, lips tucking into each other, one eye narrowing,

"No, you shouldn't, honestly, I was with Potter that night, that entire night, and the only thing you should apologise for is calling me a liar so blatantly,"

My voice stays even, with only a small hint of malice, and so very steady that I don't think even James Potter would be able to catch the lie,

His lips part and he looks to the floor, the window, then me,

"Everything with James is confusing, sometimes, even me, I get lost in his schemes, his mind that seems to be running so very much faster than mine,"

I laugh and look him over, his face, the way he now sits comfortably, more relaxed, he is shorter than James, but yet at the same time as I look into those eyes again, I see his amusement through them, so he does have qualities that James possesses, perhaps he is just a softer form of James, kinder, more approachable, less famous, less obsessed, less beautiful and more relatable.

"I don't think I could grant a judgement on that certain Potter if I am going to stick to my claim of not knowing him,"

He laughs full on; the grin revealing dimples on his freckled cheeks, which are more round, not sculpted to perfection, then again only one persons is…

The ride is long, but the time is passed with laughter, and as we pull into the station, the slowing of the train, the window fogged with smoke from the London air, the images flashing by outside slows, and the scenery is urban, concrete, brick, as the green disappears behind us like a faded memory, the wheels turn their last times, the bells ring, and the train pulls to a halt.

The steam blows, the horn and bells fill the air along with Fred and I's laughter, contagious, young, and my nerves that brew beneath the skin are forgotten as if they don't exist, and yet they are ready to roar up at any moment, we step off the Express, my hand grazing the red paint, and I gaze at it in wonder for a moment, before his voice breaks my concentration.

"You should come tonight, put that pretty dress to use, you don't want his riches to go to waste…"

I glance at him from beneath long lashes and blink slowly, and I take a deep breath in,

"You rich never get the price of just a penny or a Knut to us, means nothing to you,"

He nods slow, smiling softly,

"Maybe you are too quick to judge; maybe you don't know him after all…. But I don't have that kind of money, not everyone with the last name does,"

I lick my lips and fall into step next to him, almost to the threshold to the muggle world, and as I speak we walk through the wall, I will never get over the sensation, the way your stomach flops, and your head spins as the noise hits you in waves, and yet the level of my voice does not change, louder or softer,

"I don't know any of you, but parties aren't really my seen, and that dress might need to go to waste,"

He nods slow, eyebrows raising and turning away, to go up the stairs, while I will continue and take the train,

"That dress is worth more than you and I combined, but not in sickles, in emotions, thoughts, and for the record, you're a bad liar Rose BlackThorne, and so is James, at least to the people who know him best…. You weren't with him that entire night, and something tells me I made a mistake when I told you that there was an attack, because you won't stop until you get answers as to who, and I can guarantee you he'll give you answers if you go tonight,"

He grins at me and waves goodbye softly, before turning on his heels and jogging up the stairs, I watch him leave, a wizard in a crowd of boring muggles, and yet, I look just like another boring one in the crowd, except I am watching him, while others, in the bustle of London's train station, run by, eyes unfocused, blood pumping, London brings you alive, every time I come the world turns upside down, no one focuses on anything, anyone, not even the exceptional ones that stand out in any crowd.

His words turn through my head as I too turn on my heels and walk away, hair dripping over my shoulder as I go, catching the train, listening to the rattle of the loud, and I count the seconds, the time as the silence of my mind comes, as the silence of the train comes to my attention,

One

I can hear the man on the phone yelling at his employee, the woman in the suit texting to her ex-boyfriend, I can hear the rustle of silk as a beautiful lady stands, dressed for a night out, early, probably going to diner, I hear the way the world turns around each of them in their own heads, the woman in rags clutching her young child to her breast, head lolled to the side in exhaustion, one hand holding tight a few pounds, the silver and gold hues glinting in the dull subway lighting,

Two

The train stopping, the doors opening, everyone is rushing out, pushing each other out of the way to be first, finding themselves to be the most important, always the most important, I feel their clothing rub against mine as they go by, I leave last, my steps are more calculated, careful, how can they not be? The street that the stairs before me leads to causes my stomach to turn, my head to pound, my heart to beat, and my feet feel heavy with each slow step,

Three

Unconsciously my hands go to my ear buds and pulls them out and the stillness hits my like a brick, the music faded in my memory, the world coming to focus, so I pay attention to each detail eyes finding every flaw, but there are simply too many to ever count.

The streets of London are bare; the gutter stench makes my nose wrinkle with familiarity. The stone beneath my feet is worn, covered in bile, faeces, garbage and god knows what else. The buildings hang high, skinny; tall, worn down with broken windows and locked doors, the brick once red is now brown and grey with age. The shingles are broken, and spider webs cloud the windows and door steps, cracks etch the pavement, and dusty ancient automobile tracks can be seen in the mud that cakes the bricks edge.

My footsteps are silent, my breath still, I know this place, the name and the word home cannot be addressed as it, and yet I spent my childhood, every day here. There is no wind; the stagnant air is so very hot and polluted that I struggle to breathe in the contaminated air anyways. Alleyways full of rats, garbage and caked with mould and fungi make the south side of London a maze for the poor. And I know the maze by heart, when I was younger I left bread crumbs to help find my way home, I had wanted to go to north London, to see the streets of gold and ivory, or so they said they would be, I remember on my way home not finding my crumbs, lost in the dark with the grime and the disease, the tears running clean tracks through the dirt caked on my face, as the rats had eaten my trail of hope and I was left there till morning, curled up with my head clutched between my fingertips.

My footsteps slow, and I feel my breath go fast, my hands are cold, but my forehead is far too hot to be good, to be okay, and somehow I don't think I am okay, this moment is too big, the letter is somehow in my hand, worn down in my fingertips, my hands covered in a cold sweat, and so I stand, feet shuffling forward, one, by one, each second memorised in my mind, simply because I need to be in control of something, even if it means nothing, it's better than absolute nothing.

And there it is, on the end of the street to the left, it's three stories sadder than last time, the windows cracked, and the door missing its handle, the cobblestones cracked and smashed, the faded welcome mat now missing the last E. My hands begin to shake, I can feel it, the tremble of a fear that I have developed far too long ago, and I feel my breath shake, lips slipping between my teeth, eyes trained on the door way, the threshold to a new life, and an old life, and this life.

And then I keep walking, I walk by the world I fear, the life I have no time to see, and into the field, the big oak tree stretching sky word, its leaves shedding with falls deliverance. I walk to her grave, the stones mount together , I remember how she instructed me to carve and dig out the heart of the oak tree, at its base, it took me months, as she withered away, yelling at me to work faster. I was at school just last year when she died, like a mother, a sister, that annoying aunt that always drinks too much, or the best friend who never knows when not to say the truth. I put her ashes in the heart, and the heart back in the tree, and then I put a mound of rocks and the seed to a daisy, her favourite plant that grew and protected her. She believed in me long before I knew what belief was, she was wise, or perhaps I was blind.

Sometimes I wonder if she truly existed or was simply a fragment of my imagination, my body knowing how desperate I was to have a friend, but even more so a mother, someone responsible for me, who looks forward to hearing about your day, and sitting with you when your sad, so perhaps she was never there, perhaps when she died maybe part of my childhood died with her, maybe a part of my imagination died with her. I fear that, the possibilities between reality and thought.

Here, with the field long and golden in the sunlight, just through the alley to the right and over the little bridge there is a wind, it rushes through me and brings energy and makes my eyes wet with tears unshed, I have nothing to say, no words can come out, so I stare, and I stare and I think back, my mind a million memories away, but my heart still pounding in the present unable to let go of the now, too afraid of getting lost in the past, and so I pick a daisy, the flower is golden yellow, reminding me of the tea she used to give me when I had a bad cough, and I tuck it into my hair.

Time goes by, and if I were to tell you about what happened as the time went, it would have gone something quite like this, then again I have no idea, it's scary, I'm scared, and I can't tell if I should speak up, or if I am brave enough to say hello, I feel sorry, as if I should be guilty for giving up on my own parents, this feels too final, too official, too real, so my breath is quick, my hands bald in fists, my eyes downcast and my heart? My heart is going boom over and over again….

"We have heard so much about you, and we think that this is a right step for you, in the right direction,"

Boom.

"Rose, don't you agree?... I'm sorry she isn't usually this quiet, I think she is just so thrilled, excited? Right?"

Boom.

"Well… We have a son and a little daughter, she is two, she really wants an older sister…"

Boom.

"How hold is the son, and what are their names?"

Boom.

"John and Leandra, and of course, we have a nice house, you would have your own room, Rose?"

Boom.

"You are okay with her going to school and coming home for the breaks?"

Boom.

"We travel so much, I am not even sure if we would be here for all of the breaks, but yes, she can even come with us, do you like travelling Rose?"

Boom.

"She has never travelled anywhere before, but, I'm sure anyone would love to…. You would only be responsible for her until she is eighteen, you understand that you have a contract of agreement, you do this, agree to take care of her, she will be your 'daughter' for that given time?"

Boom.

"Yes, do you think Rose would like to say anything, she is very quiet, Rose? Do you want a sister? I'm sure this is hard for you, but we are your best option, and we have a lot of fun at our house, you would like it there, we have a pool too, if you know how to swim, do you know how to swim? Does she know how to swim?"

Boom.

"Ahh, I don't think so, no, Rose cannot swim, but she is a quick learner, I'm sure, Rose, why don't you say something?"

Boom.

"It's okay, I read up on the internet that it can be a big shock, and transition, has anyone else fostered her before?"

Boom.

"No, this will be her first time, of course we will have to address if you are okay with her life style, and then you can ask questions, anything,"

Boom.

"Well, Rose, do you, are you in a relationship? Do you have a lot of friends, honestly we want to know everything about you, we may not be your parents but, we will try out best to make our house your home, of course you will miss the orphanage, but you can come visit whenever you want, or spend the weekends here. Of course this is your home, right?"

Boom.

"Alright….. Do you like eggs in the morning or French toast? Do you have a phone number we could have? Does she have a phone number we could have?"

Boom.

"Ummm, I do not know, Rose? Anyways, you will have a three month trial, and you can see how it goes, if you don't think she is the right fit then I'm sure we can find one. This is so nice of you, you will be changing her life forever, and giving it opportunity, I'm sure she is grateful, aren't you grateful Rose?"

 **Boom.**

Am I grateful? Can I swim? Can I speak? Do I want to travel? Do I like eggs? Do I have a phone? Do I have a boyfriend? Do I have friends? Is this my home?

I feel my lungs ach from the lack of oxygen and I breathe deeply. My eyes close, my fingernails digging into my flesh, my teeth drawing blood on my lip, and with my eyes squeezed shut as their words hit me like bullets, as the table and stacks of paper work in her office seem to be mountains I have to climb, his voice slips into my head, soft, lovely, like a piano peace, Scorpius Malfoy, a friend, the best….

 _"_ _Rose, hey, everything is gonna be okay… I know you are scared… And I know right now you think it's a catastrophe, because you can't control it, but trust me on this one my flower, you will be okay one day soon…. Because you're good at that, you are good at being okay, at being strong. So they are scary, and they are asking you questions you don't want to answer, but I'm here, always…"_

My voice is cracked, soft, scared, yes I am terrified,

"Always…"

Three pairs of eyes land on me, and the lady, the one that I am supposed to call mom and say things like "I love you" too watches me, she wears a tailored suit, its neon green, her hair is perfect, her eyes heavy with makeup, her face is soft, kind, but not genuine, speaks up, her voice reminds me of an ad, too smooth, but not real, not right now, as if this was some pre-recording I am hearing, listening to.

"What did you say darling?"

I clear my throat and lift my eyes and face them,

"I can swim, I taught myself when I was five in the Thames River, it was grimy and polluted, but at least I can swim, I would count that as a benefit, I don't eat breakfast, or when I do I like fruit and a strong cup of caffeine, I love to travel, I'd love to see the world so my biased opinion that I have gained from novels, books and the stories told at pubs can be changed for the better, I have a phone, I cannot remember the last time I used it, but I have one, I am not in a relationship, I have friends that are closer than family, and I am grateful….."

A pause and I continue,

"I am grateful that you are giving me a chance, but this is a lot to take in, and I can talk, I speak a lot actually, I like talking, but I have nothing to say, not to you. And I just need…."

My breath is unsteady, my hands shaking. I realise I have lost count and my breath is going too fast, my life, time, is going too fast and so for once I let it go, and time flashes before my eyes and I forget the world, the life, the time that flies by, my own heart on its wings, needing the escape it is leading me to. And as the time flies by, as they lead me to the door, their arms coming around me, as I watch them take out the camera, taking out photograph, signing the paperwork, words are exchanged, never before has words had so little meaning to me, and as they go their car, opening the door, waving goodbye, blowing me kisses, as the wheels turn as they go, I whisper to their retreating forms,

 _"_ _I said always…."_

The stars have never looked so beautiful. I stand there, outside of the house, if you could call it that. It rises to that sky, the heavens themselves like a pillar of marble built for the undeserving, windows shine with light, and I can see bodies moving to music, though I cannot hear the music, it does vibrate through the ground. The address, written on my hand in scrawled writing by a certain Fred Weasley just before the train stopped, I take a deep breath and close my eyes, and with them closed my heart is still captured in the stars that shine above me, that glow like diamonds in the sky, an oblivion I want to know, an oblivion that I know I cannot let go of. And so my eyes open wide, a sea of greens embracing a world I have never seen before and so with one foot ahead of the other, one step after the other I change my life, and it feels as if I am dreaming, the gate is gold, lions carved as pillars themselves on either side,

My feet make no sound, each step has an echo far greater than such a simple thing, it sounds like a storm, each step is the thunder, and my eyes are the ones that carry the lightning. The dress, the cloth warm against my legs, soft, the silk running over my skin, sending chills through my flesh, into my very bones, aching for more, it makes me powerful, unstoppable, and for once the eyes follow me, glances long, they wonder who I am, I wonder who I am, but today I have been too many people to keep up, so now I am no one, and the oblivion of me is eye catching, the clothing, the dress, the heels, each footstep, I am the Queen of a world I have never met.

The garden is quiet, the pathway did lead to a front door, but I was too afraid to open it, there, standing before it, one hand raised to knock, one hand ready to open, fingertips millimetres from the knob but kilometres from my mind, and my heart is beating a race, is running up a mountain, climbing the vines of a thorny rose, somehow that embodies me. And so I did turn from the doorway to forever, and instead I walked slow, eyes wide, heart in my throat, around the house, hands tracing the walls, tracing the fence, the metal is cold, the paint smooth.

And then I stop. My breath is taken from me. And I am left breathless, eyes upturned, not knowing where to look.

The garden is magnificent, unlike everything else that seems so artificial, this reminds me of a dream, and there are tears, soft, tender as they slip down my cheeks, one by one tracing their own path, to their own oblivion. The flowers are all colours I have never seen, there are shades of blue, with petals soft, dew clutching like tear drops to their open blooms, purples with gold tips that are surrounded by a mist so light a green that it seems non-existent.

At the entryway, rising to face me are fairies, not statues, but fairy oak trees, towering above me, and lining the mossy path, and in the dark ebony wood lies the little beings, their wings beating softly, glowing like stars themselves they float, flutter, dust following them in clouds of glamour, they hide in the knots of the tree, behind the leaves, some are weaving dream catchers, little hands going to work, their muscles defined by hues of gold, silver and light bronze, some are planting flowers, and fungi of many colours. Some lay asleep on woven hammocks, and throughout the garden they dart like flying lanterns, their wings are transparent or a pearly colour, and each of their little laughs make my heart light, and I am alive, as I have never been.

I take a step, my feet walking on the floating stepping stones that look like stars themselves, they are transparent, like glass, but some look more blue, like sapphires, matching my dress, some are pink, orange, yellow, gold, and I am lost of breath, words, meaning. For here there is a beauty worth more than I could ever have imagined.

The garden comes alive, moving with fairies, and little lights twinkle like stars, floating in the air, giving a soft warm glow, and through the treed canopy I can see the real stars peeking through like diamonds. Shadows cling to the plants, the trees, and yet everything seems to shine with a joy I cannot put down in words, and so I am lost in the reality for once, not my mind, and my heart is right here, beating with an anxious excitement I don't understand, is it love? Is it joy? Is it an emotion stronger, that I cannot name for it has no name?

The ground is covered in a dark green moss, as soft as a baby birds first feathers fluffed by its mother, and there at the end of the garden, in a corner are roses, they are red, as dark as blood, thorns sharp, vines forming a wall, with a small archway entrance that I presume is into the house, and the party, but why would I ever want to leave this dream that cannot be real…

"It's incredible, right?"

The voice, as soft as snow, as lovely as a warm fire after a snow ball fight, like an orchestra that brings you to tears, like a thunderstorm on a hot summer day, like a dream that you don't want to wake up from, like velvet, like satin, like the silk that drifts around my legs, leaves me breathless.

A chuckle, dark, light, fire and death, daring and kind, everything, all at the same time, so overwhelming, belongs in a place like this, of exotic things that I cannot understand, that I could never understand,

"It must be if it left you speechless…."

It comes from the shadows, but I don't look to find where, my head is upturned, my hands wrapped around me, tears running down my face, and I cannot say anything, because I am lost and I am found, and today was too long, and so much has happened, and the artificial power I feel in this dress makes me weak, and the life I live makes me scared, and I am so confused about so many things, and I am stressed about work, about school, about friends, and yet, here, where nothing, absolutely nothing makes sense, I am so happy, that I cannot leave, and I want to stay forever. I need to stay forever….

He continues, soft, kind, so kind I feel as if I could fall apart at any moment, at any given time,

"When I was younger, I first saw a fairy, I remember standing there and staring at it for hours, unable to move, to think, except the simple thought that how was it possible in such a horrible word something so beautiful could simply exist…"

I don't move, the tears keep coming, like rain, like hell, and no sound, but each tear traces over my cheek, along my cheekbone, the arch of my nose, the mountain of my lip, the curve of my neck, until it falls to the moss covered floor,

I hear his footsteps, soft like his voice, each stride long, I cannot tell if he knows I'm crying, if he can see the silver tears of regret, of fear, of hope and a joy that is far too overwhelming,

He is closer when he speaks again, his voice is so very warm and inviting, I cannot help but depend on it,

"I thought you would look beautiful in that dress, but, you look so much more than that simple word, it is far too ordinary of a word to apply to you…"

I take a deep breath, and with it a sob, so broken, so defeated slips from my lips, and there is another step, he is so close, I can feel the warmth of his skin, the warmth of him, just inches away, the hot breath on my neck, and I welcome the warmth as if I am cold, frozen from a day too long.

And then he is there, in front of me, and I lower my eyes to meet his, they are not laughing, no those golden orbs are so kind, they do not pity me, they do not think I am weak, they do not look at my tears and find me less than who I was yesterday, or the day before, they look at me as if I am strong, as if I am the most fascinating thing they have ever seen. And there are no boundaries, in a moment like this there are no mistakes, in a place like this there is no going back, and so I cannot move away, I cannot look away, I can hardly breath, I am believing, and my heart is pounding and I want him closer, I need him closer, I need him to hold me before I fall apart.

His lips are parted, his lashes long, his hair is falling into his eyes, just brushing over the arch of his eyebrow. He is dressed in a white dress shirt, the top six buttons undone, exposing toned muscles that shift and contract with every subtle movement, and a black suit jacket buttoned on top of the white, his jeans are black, tight, boots over his feet, laces golden, shining with money, shining with pride, he looks so much older, so much more intimidating as he stands there, before me, and no words need to be said, no words are said, we simply watch each other, and that says enough.

Time passes slow, or fast, either way I do not care how time goes as long as the moment doesn't end, eventually he speaks, soft, I have to lean forward to hear each word roll off of his tongue, my hands falling to my sides, palms upward, inviting,

"I'm going to count down from three, and then I am going to hold you Rose…"

I stare at him, and I cannot breath, I cannot believe, I cannot, and yet, I want, he is telling me so I have a chance to run, telling me because maybe he wants me to run, his eyes stay on mine, they are alive with flames, pools of possibility and so I stare into them, the air trembling between us, inches apart,

 **"** **One"**

His voice is a whisper, like he is telling me a secret, it sounds like the brush of a paintbrush, the graze of a feather against the flesh of a new-born baby, so very quiet, that I cannot believe he said it, that he dared, and yet I want him to continue,

 **"** **Two"**

Today was so long, my body aches with physical and mental excursion, and I am shaking, from teetering on the edge of a cliff and I do not know if I can fall, or if I fall what I will fall into, and so I stand there and I listen to our breathing, in and out at the same time,

 **"** **Three"**

Last chance. Run, Rose, you need to run but I don't move I watch him, and he watches me and there is no denying I am lost before I am found, lost in his eyes and found in his eyes, a cycle that seems endless and I don't want it to end, and so I am waiting for him.

My lips part, and I swallow hard, and I feel the tears continue to fall, and I watch him, the king of them all, lift his hand, slowly, I watch the movement, and I cannot believe, I cannot escape, his hands are callused, large, beautiful, works of art, and I feel my eyes flutter shut as his finger graze my cheek, wiping away the tears that flow, the gesture is so sweet, so real, his skin is warm, my skin is warmed by it, and the sparks it leaves behind leave me more alive than ever.

His finger slips below my chin, along my jaw, over the crest of my lip, tracing the outline of my face as if painting me on paper. I gasp softly, lips parted eyes shut in fear, fear of what this moment means,

His voice is so soft, so musical, too real for me to control, so I have lost all control,

 _"_ _Open your eyes Rose,"_

My eyelashes brush against his fingertips, and my eyes blink open, wide, dazed, in wonder, his eyes swim with emotions I cannot read and we are lost in each other but I have never felt so safe, so free, so powerful,

He is closer, millimetres away, and our breath mixes together, we are one, one step away, too close to go back, and I don't want to,

His hand holds my cheek and I lean into it, eyes lulling closed, dipping shut to open again,

And then he pulls me close, hands' pulling me at my waist, strong, powerful, us both, his chest is hard, the muscles defined as our bodies a line, my head rests in the dip between his shoulder blade and his neck, and his chin rests on my head, his hands wrapped around my slim form, my hands around his athletic build.

I can hear his pulse, steady, and fast all at the same time, we are all lost in each other, me and him unable to contain whatever this is. I lean into him, into his embrace, and as I do he pulls me closer, his hands soft on my waist, I can feel the heat burning my skin through the sheer fabric of the dress.

And my eyes can't help but close, the tears have stopped, and his breath tickles my neck, he is so warm, he reminds me, do I dare? _He reminds me of home…_

And so we stand there, locked in an embrace, where there is no space between us, there is no words between us, just **us.** A word that means more than either of us know, and so I hold him like I cannot let go, his hands splayed across my back, his lips pressed to my forehead, mine to his neck, not kissing, no holding, caring, and there is a flicker of hope between us, a flicker of flames, and the sparks engulf me, I cannot breath, my body is content, buzzing with emotions that are flying by like the wind.

My eyelashes tickle his skin as I blink slowly, just taking a peak to make sure he is really there, holding me, his arms are strong, they are holding me together, and I have fallen off the cliff into heaven, or perhaps I rose, and I never fell. The moment is too magical as the fairies flutter around us, as the world seems to have come to a still, just us.

And softly into that moment, I feel him move closer, his hands pulling me into him, so that I am no longer standing but spinning in the air, feet off of the ground as he turns us around, over and over, the moment to magical to believe, and eventually he puts me down and we stay there, standing in that little garden, hands wrapped around each other, hearts beating synchronized. And minds a lined as we stay together, us, and I feel one last tear, of joy, such a pure joy I cannot contain slip down my cheek.

The moment seems to never end…

"I didn't think you'd come,"

The world seems to stop, the music is beating the rhythm of my heart, the adrenaline in my veins burning me alive, the star is sky is our only observers, the dress floats around me, puling me in, the material soft as it caresses my skin. Around ten minutes ago we broke a part and watched each other until finally he spoke. And now I return the favour, voice soft, scared,

"You said take a chance, did you mean that?"

He stares at me, unblinking, the shadows cling to him, the vines of the roses in the garden growing around us like veins, and his voice sounds like the wind whispering a dark secret into my ear,

 _"_ _Every word,"_

I feel my jaw tighten, I feel my heart race, I feel it all too much, and everything today seems too much, and I just need to forget, and for some reason I know he can help me, help me go blind in his arms,

"Then lead the way,"

He smiles, soft in the light of the stars, and he shakes his head, stepping to the side, his hand gesturing in a fluid movement, I follow the fingers, the way they graze the air, his voice is deep driving me mad, I feel my heart skip a beat, my breath skip a lifetime, I feel my mind begin to forget, he is all I see, him and his voice like an orchestra and a thunder storm, the soft undertone that sounds like heaven and hell, he cut of his jaw and lips as the words slip from his throat.

"It's your turn to lead the way Rose Nadia BlackThorne"

I feel my lips turn upwards and shake my head, eyes downcast, my eyes glittering like nightmares in the dark, his hands like an ocean, just two souls that are falling into or off of a cliff and the air is rushing by and we both want it to never end, his eyes follow me, his shoes shine with expense,

"No, not this time, this time you go on ahead, and one day I'll follow, you, your path, but not today, today the stars and I have a date, _just us,"_

He turns to leave and pauses to look back, those eyes look like the suns shining down on me, awakening me,

"You seem sad,"

I bite my lip, his eyes follow the movement, I watch those lips part in admiration, he looks at me like no one else does, like I am some dream that he can't be sure is real, my words are soft, almost a whimper,

"An observation or a fact?"

He shakes his head, hair falling into those eyes, brows dark, eyes white and real,

"A little bit of both,"

And I feel my eyes close, my head tilting back the air hisses between my lips sound like a snakes whisper, and my words sound like a defence, a weak wall, a plead, and he knows, merlin, he does,

"I'm okay, James, I am so very okay,"

He chuckles, but not because he found it funny, but because he knows I'm a liar, and he knows that the liars all need a good laugh, just to remind them of the real world, and god is he right,

"I remember when I was little I asked my aunt what okay meant,"

I lick my lips and feel myself sit on the bench, the dress floating around me, like a ghost, transparent, me being a star like the rest, my eyes find his, the connection is like a burning bridge and he is the only way to safety,

"And what did she say?"

He stands over me; he looks so beautiful, too beautiful, his hair falling out of his eyes,

"She said it's what liars say before they cry,"

I feel the breath catch in my throat, and the tremor of grief hit me over the head, but my eyes don't move, glossy with a fear of tears, a fear of fears,

"Are you calling me a liar James Potter?"

He shakes his head,

"What makes you so fascinating is you are never lying your just acting, playing the role you were granted, sometimes you play your part better than I do, better than I could, than I have,"

I feel my eyelashes brush my cheek bone as my eyes close off the world,

"The thing is I should be happy, but it feels as if I am leaving behind some important part of me, you know?"

He runs a hand through his hair, I listen to each brush of the hair, and I can't help but imagine how soft it must be,

"Not until you tell me,"

I stand, and open my eyes and smile, a real smile,

"See you around James, enjoy your party it looks fantastic,"

He raises an eyebrow,

"You look fantastic,"

I shake my head and let out a long breath,

"One day Potter they'll ask you what made you so memorable,"

He smiles,

"And what will I say?"

I shake my head again,

"You'll say something that blows them all away, you'll take that dare that no one else would, you'll intoxicate and build an empire from the ashes of your enemies, and I will hate you for every second, and every brick, but at the end you will still know how to get me, everyone on your side,"

He nods, and steps forward,

"Is that a talent?"

I arch an eyebrow to match his,

"Is buying peoples trust and love a talent or a risk? Machiavelli believed it is better to be feared than loved, because love can turn to hatred, though he forgot that hatred can turn to love, perhaps you are brave or your stupid, or you buy me nice dresses to get me angry,"

"I like to find out how people tick,"

"And am I ticking Potter?"

He grins,

 _"_ _Like you're about to explode…."_


	14. Long weeks, learning history

Chapter 14: Weeks empty, history learning

~Rose's POV~

~2 weeks later~

The window fascinates me. Every day of the past two weeks did I sit here, bathing in the sun at noon, as lunch goes on without me. It is strange without V and them around, weirder with Potter absent from my classes. Some people ask where they went, and others whisper that their family, the Potters feel threatened because of what happened. And so much has.

The party seems like years ago, some kind of golden dream that never existed, with his skin on mine, lips centimetres apart, breathing the same air, surrounded by fairy dust and a hope that turned to ash when the night was over.

Sitting, watching the Hufflepuff Quidditch team fly by, forming formations, landing, doing figure eights in the sky seems like a nightmare I can't yet face, so I rather sit here and contemplate. Nightmares, every night, haunting my eyes, hunting my sleep, as my mind creates an abyss that I fall into regularly.

Sitting here I remember the first time I sat in this corner, _our corner._ Me and Scorp found it at the beginning of second, we sat and we watched the sun high in the sky and at first, I remember we said nothing. Sitting, both captured in the awkward moment of oblivion, eyes downcast, casting glances at each other when neither is looking. Eventually I spoke up, voice timid, hands knotted in my lap, quiet, scared that I'll scare him, the young Malfoy away.

"Isn't the sun pretty? I like to think, one day I could reach up and touch it, and it would be miraculous."

I remember the way the little blonde boy glanced at me, from under long ashes, hair not yet sculpted with gel but free, falling naturally to the side, not long enough to reach his eyes. I remember the sound of his voice, like a soft violin, catching each note, singing each song, praise and a whisper dancing across his tongue.

"You can't touch the sun, its illogical, aren't you a Ravenclaw?"

I remember laughing, the sound soft, afraid, still that this ghost of a boy will disappear,

"The sun is not what I desire to touch; it is the sky, the thought, the imagination of it, that makes me unstoppable, always,"

I remember the way his eyes scrunched up and his eyebrows creased,

"But you can't, no one can, plus imagination is fake, that's what my dad always says..."

I remember the pity in my eyes, the softness of his voice, the roll of each letter, the innocence, and I remember leaning forward, softly, hands finding his,

"No one should ever tell you that this world is not your own oblivion, imagination is the only freedom we get, the only absolute, without it, what are we but empty shells repeating tasks on a chess board, wondering who will move next,"

I remember how cold his skin was, how soft his voice was. And that same voice cuts through my quiet revere, still as soft, still as kind, still beautiful but now I trust it, crave a voice in the silence of these weeks,

"You are awfully silent..."

I glance up from my seat at the library window, the blankets hanging around me, the pillows perched precariously, hair high on my head, in a messy bun, large and puffy. The question is phrased as a statement, and not a question. And yet it makes my breath quick, and I feel those eyes, as though they are my own, as though they are the only ones that own me. But I am not owned and his trapping gaze does not haunt me, it does not capture me, and I am free, always, because freedom is my absolute. So I pretend,

"It's a Monday, of course I am…"

I see him shake his head out of the corner of my eye, and I watch the blond hair catch the light, the light of the sun, golden, I shake the thought out of my head softly, and listen to his voice, soft like a violin piece, I have had the absence of any voice for the past two weeks, the silence captures me, but I am exhausted of it, exhausted of not hearing a voice, I want a voice to fill the still, so I cannot help but welcome his.

"I mean you have been quiet for 2 weeks straight, ever since that Monday…"

I run a hand over my face, eyebrows scrunching together, as I sink farther into the blankets, hiding my face behind my hands, and a thick book, my voice is soft, but strong not hiding, I never hide, not from Scorp, but from the world and those golden eyes,

 _"_ _What_ Monday?"

He watches me carefully, eyes designed to watch, just not me, another one, another person, and yes, Monday, a day that I normally dread but was never prepared for. I remember, just a blink I remember too much, the door, the window, the voices loud, my footsteps soft, my hands cold on the wood of the door, my breath forming clouds of frost. Those eyes, golden like hell and maybe heaven I don't know…I remember the fairy tale dream as we embraced, hands lost in each other. I remember walking away, and leaving him behind, climbing back onto the empty Hogwarts express and leaving the world behind as I go, and left, leaving.

"Rose?"

I look up at him, and he looks at me, but his eyes are blue, his voice is soft, his eyes kind, he wants to help, not cause chaos. I shake my head softly, eyes batting shut to hide from those eyes, and as my eyes close, they take me back.

The morning sun is soft, Veronica's bed is empty, and the great hall is full of whispers, eyes, searching the crowd for someone. And there is only one person to ever see. The morning paper drops onto the table, loud, with a boom causing my heart to beat like a fire cracker, the headlines are normal, nothing irregular, except… Except it….

"Yes Scorp?"

He watches me open my eyes, softly, the lashes brushing over my cheekbone, my eyes do not meet his, but the past is forgotten on to soon come back, but in this moment, there is no past, just the present, those blue eyes follow me,

"Not just quiet, distant, focusing on your work, not your friends,"

My lips dart over my lips, and my eyes bat close again, images flashing before my eyes, the paper are full of them, images, moving with time and speed. And without noticing I am looking around the room, looking for my friends, and then for golden eyes, and then anyone, any Potter, any Weasley, any of _them._ But no wonder the room looks so empty, no wonder the eyes search, no wonder the quiet resounds, they aren't here, none of them, and I look down, I look down at the paper in my hands, clutched, my fingers forming creases in the paper, my hands getting the fresh printed ink smeared on my fingertips, and I read, because I am good at reading, and after all everyone in the great hall on Monday mornings is reading the next big headline, and today not a single person is not reading it, not watching it, not considering what it means, how it happened. My eyes skim the page, my hands tightening, and I watch and I breath, in, and then out, in and then out.

 **Attack and murder of Mundungus Fletcher childhood friend of Harry Potter and original Order Member**

"The event has hit us all hard, and though detailed reports of the attack have not yet come in we can say that it was most definitely a violent ordeal and we send our condolences to the Potters…" **~Cornelius Fudge J.**

"We can say undoubtedly that this is the first of many vulgar attacks that is successful, including one on Friday night, on Harry Potter himself," **~Monsieur Delacour**

"He was a hard worker, and his murder will not be forgotten, this case will be solved along with the previous attack on Harry Potter," **~Anonymous**

We must unfortunately state that the death of a certain member of the order, murdered last night on his way home from Hermione Weasleys birthday party, in Knockturn Alley outside of a pub and two in the morning. The details may not yet be confirmed but interviewing a witness from that night we did get some information.

Interviewer- "What did you see at 3 in the morning that night?"

Anonymous-"I was just outside of da pub and then I saw it, a little girl, I think,"

Interviewer-"Can you describe this character?"

Anonymous-"She was on the ground, crawlin on all fours, and she was smiling, but cryin' at the same bloody time, and she was comin', fast, her skin all black and dirty,"

Interviewer-"What happened when she arrived?"

Anonymous-"She stood up, and god damn she was tall, and I was inside by now, 'cause you never know what you'll see out that late, and my old eyes play tricks sometimes, but she was real, and her hands were like talons…"

Interviewer-"What did she do?"

Anonymous-"She disappeared like she was never dere but I saw her with them two eyes, and Mundungus had gone out, left the pub around 15 minutes earlier, 'dere is no way it ain't her, none."

All we can confirm is that the attack was from the mysterious Forgotten Ones that the government has voted to suppress. The law written and signed by the Minister himself only two weeks earlier, as he agreed with the D.A's vote that these beasts that crawl, and hide in the dark of our own streets at night, only to hunt people who have been on the wrong side are now a current threat in society. We can only hope that the great Potters who were friends of the late Mundungus Fletcher will retaliate with kind and secure our nation again. As our saviours it is our sworn duty to relay and trust their power and influence and that they will do all they can to prevent another event like this occurring. We must send out our condolences and grievances for his family, and friends and remember to be careful when we walk the streets alone. Finally, from our sources here at the daily prophet we have heard that Harry Potter himself was attacked only days earlier around the same time, but this attack is not confirmed to be true, but if so, we must ask ourselves, did Harry Potter defeat The Dark Lord, are these rebellious followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or, finally, some sort of weapon that has been brewing in the dark, a new threat, totally unrelated. Our streets are becoming unsafe, as history repeats itself, and we hope and give our prayers to our chosen ones who will and must take a stand to illuminate this new threat of the Forgotten Ones in our society.

 **~Rita Skeeter**

I remember dropping the newspaper, eyes wide, breath quick. And one thought, one thought only, Harry had been attacked the night James went to Diagon alley, that was what Fred was asking me, that was what he had wanted to know, if I had seen it, whatever monster that hid in the shadows, if I had known what James was really doing there. And a part of me believes he was only buying a dress, but a bigger part, more unsure of who he even is, makes my heart thud, was the dress the distraction, what else was he doing there, late at night, and fear, a trickle so hot that shivers up my spine, like a snake slithering its way to my throat to suffocate, not caring about who I am, my emotions, fear. I was afraid. I remember the way I calmed my breathing, resting the paper on the table gently, I remember how Scorpius read it too, eyes scanning the page, re-reading wondering, but not looking at me, those blue eyes, when they did look up, searched for a Potter. A different Potter with green eyes, not gold. I remember going upstairs, feet dragging on each step, tracing the way up and up.

I remember my feet taking me up to the highest tower where James and I watched the stars and I remember who I found up there. He was dressed in all black, head to toe, eyes distant, hands buried in deep pockets, so far off I wonder if I could find him, his mind like an abyss I fear falling into. He did not look my way as my silent footsteps came to a stop, and now I was the one clinging to the shadows, and hiding in the darkness that goes around the walls. I wonder if he knows I am here, and I say nothing, not a word as we stand, separated, on a Monday morning watching the sun climb in the sky. And he knows of the murder committed, he knows of the world that fell at his family's name. And so we did stand, separated, and eventually, after time the velvet voice like a soft bird's song floated towards me,

"What are you doing here Rose, you should go to class,"

He sounded sad, empty, as if the world was taken from beneath his feet, and without it he cannot, simply cannot.

When I finally answered him my voice was distant, worried, I was scared for him, so close to the edge,

"Shouldn't you be in class too, Potter?"

He shaked his head, over and over, as if the movement possessed him,

"I can't, not today, I just, merlin, I..."

I heard the struggle in his voice, the struggle in his stance, as he answered, slow, quiet, afraid,

"Go downstairs Rose…"

I remember stepping forward, shoes soft on the floor, the wind whispered by us, and I stood and I watched him and then I spoke,

"No, not today, I need to know something; you need to let me ask a question…"

I remember the curve of his neck, the soft flow of his hair against his skin, and eventually there is silence,

"Ask away Rose, nothing's stopping you…"

And so I do, I remember the way my lips formed the question, I remember the words, the way he flinched, the way his eyes turned from molten gold to pits of hell, and the way he disappeared, down the stairs, brushing by me with no answer, and no reply.

"James, what were you doing in Diagon Alley that night, the night you got the dress, because I have been thinking and the times don't work out, it doesn't work Potter, so what happened? Did you see?"

Then he is gone, not looking me in the eye.

"Rose?"

His voice brings me back to the present, and I watch him watch me. Those blue eyes are such a contrast to the gold, and they are not strong and powerful, with a wall preventing me to come in, to help him, but Scorpius' gaze is different, colder, and more in love, more trusting. My eyes dip close softly and then open again, watching him watch me.

"Yes?"

He shakes his head, softly, hair staying in place,

"We haven't really talked these past two weeks, and I know you, I know when you're scared or nervous, or you have made a mistake, _you hide,"_

I bite my lip, dragging it in-between my teeth as my breath hisses,

"I don't think that is fair Scorp, I need to focus on grades, and work and a stupid divination projects,"

I pause, and then I continue,

"I need to finish writing and memorising my speech for tomorrow, for the prefect meeting, where it commences, and we begin prefect rounds with what we would like to change in Hogwarts, I just, I have a lot on my plate, and I need to focus on it…"

He nods slowly, but his eyes don't believe me, that smile doesn't reach them, that nod doesn't mean he agrees.

"Rose, your friends haven't been here all week, along with the first couple days of last week, and you hide here, as if hiding from them, even though they aren't here, in Hogwarts…"

His voice is soft, like a lullaby, reassuring, keeping me close and far at the same time, and he is asking, the question I am so scared to answer, so scared to say yes to, and so I sit, and we watch each other, we watch because we are good at watching, we always have been. Finally I speak, and when I do my voice is raw, small, infantile,

"I am worried, oh Scorp, I am worried they fear me, or hate me, and I am worried that I should not have told them that I am an orphan. Their own family was attacked and a family friend killed, and some part of me thinks I should be blamed, or that being blamed makes sense,"

He shakes his head, stepping forward to crouch before me, hands pulling the book out of my hand and grabbing both in his, eyes on him, holding me pinned under his gaze,

"You can't blame yourself for things that our out of your control, you never decided to be an orphan, no one gave you a choice or an option, it can't be your fault, and they, your friends, they may be related to _them_ but they are your friends first, and they would never, even let that thought cross their mind,"

My breath shakes softly, his hands are cold, as are mine, but neither of us mind the cold, it is as if we were breed for it. And we sit there, him on his knees in front of me, eyes wide, the blue so startling, and my eyes soft, trying to let his words in, except his words, dispel grief and blame and hate but emotions do not go away when someone else tells them to, you have to face them head on, acceptance of what you think they mean and then prove them wrong, and sitting here, with my hands clutched in his, and my eyes trained on his, and our hearts beating the same, we are one, we trust the one we are.

Finally I speak, and my voice holds a timid interest, held back, refined, and yet with an undertone of malice,

"How is Albus?"

He scoffs and stands, grabbing a chair and pulling it up, sitting. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, fingers closing around air,

"I wouldn't know…"

I wait for him to continue, and eventually he does, voice bitter,

"We were friends, awkward in third year, but the summer was so hectic and he wanted us to be real friends, but my mum, and I couldn't, I didn't have the time, so here we are. Apparently him and Liena Greengrass, Daphne's kid, are getting closer, he likes her, so, I guess that's that."

The loss of hope in his voice causes me to stand and pull him close, my hands wrapping around his slender, cold form, and he sits there, my chin resting on his head, eyes closed, fingers lost in his white hair, soft, it smells of lavender, I love lavender.

"Oh Scorp… It would have never worked, you and I were right, back in second, the Potters are a different race, and they are too far into the public eye for either of us to handle…"

He nods slow, voice choked when he speaks again,

"I just thought that maybe it meant more to him, or maybe he didn't have to listen to everything his bloody family says,"

I cut him off,

"What do you mean? What does his family have to do with any of this?"

He shakes his head, soft,

"His brother doesn't like me, James, he doesn't like how I am, he doesn't like me last name, or anything it has to do with that, it feels like James takes after his father's grudge…"

He glances up at me, blue stormy eyes, meeting mine; I clear my throat and pull away,

"I wouldn't know, but if its any consolation, another Weasley is looking your way, honestly I should have told you earlier…"

He blinks slow, and watches me; his gaze is always so very steady,

"Which Weasley? Told you what earlier?"

I swallow the spark of jealousy, and continue,

"Rose Weasley, she was asking me about you a couple weeks ago, she wanted to make sure you and I,"

I cough,

"Weren't dating…"

He smiles softly, and scrunches up his nose, but his eyes are a little happy, just simply because he is appreciated,

"Huh, Rose Weasley? Who would have ever thought?!"

I shake my head, eyes rolling at his suddenly uplifted smile, and voice as well. I go to say something else, perhaps the fact that Rose is younger than us, or maybe a _girl_ but stop myself, as the end of lunch bell rings and a flurry of movement throughout the library occurs as everyone stands to leave, packing their bags, putting books back on the shelves, and as it clears I stand too, going to leave, Scorp calls after me,

"Rose? You don't mind if I talk to the other Rose about it?"

And I stop, bag now slung over my shoulder, not facing him, but away, ready to leave,

"Of course not, why would I? She is beautiful too, you would love her,"

He watches me and waits and so do I, there is an awkward pause, and my voice sounds too false cheery and yet I still go to leave, ending the conversation with,

"I'll be late to history of magic, and we don't want that, listen Scorp do whatever you want, but she looks nice, inside and out, so give it a go,"

I see him nod and give a chipper wave as he heads in the other direction. I walk down the halls, my feet loud in my ears, and I keep asking myself, "Since when was my life this interesting, this much of a mess?"

And there is no answer as I slowly open the classroom door, going to my mandatory seat at the front, on the Ravenclaw side, Professor Bins, with his ancient textbook closed, and sitting by the fire, eyes lost as we all take our seats.

The class is loud, and everyone chatters, but still quieter than usual, for the absence of Potter and Fred makes the room more silent, but still John Prewett, Lorcan and Lysander Scamander, and Sheila sit on the Gryffindor side, making some noise, but not as much.

The absence of my friends makes these weeks silent.

Finally the class dies down and becomes silent as Bins floats forward, an old ghost, and stands before us, in his hand is a copy of the daily prophet, and even from here I can see the headlines, from two defining days that make my heart boom.

Eventually he speaks, and the world comes into focus,

"There has been an attack, and though it did occur two weeks ago I am addressing it now because the funeral is today…"

Silence, he has captured all eyes and all attention,

"And these attacks are from a group, that we have named The Forgotten Ones…"

His voice is quiet, so that I have to strain my ears to listen to the gravely words that escapes his transparent lips,

"Today's lesson will be on this group, so that any confusion of this matter, which does occur in present history but began in the year a young boy named Harry Potter, was born. I taught him, Harry Potter, and I was here when they stormed the castle, and when Severus was Headmaster, and Voldemort strolled the halls…"

I watch him; his eyes stay far away, lost,

"As old as I am, and though tragedy I have seen, looking upon the face of The Dark Lord terrified me. His appearance was intimidating but his voice, the power he exuded, the brilliance masked beneath the hunger for power and control of a monarchy system scared me."

I stare, watching each word slip from between his lips,

"I taught Tom Riddle when he was a boy, your age, younger…"

My breath is unsteady,

"He was a quiet one, sat in the corner all of first year, but his eyes were smart, and soon he was at the front surrounded by his friends, they had formed a group. At that time it did not have a name, simply a reputation. He was brilliant and once, as we talked about muggle history crossing over with our own, and Henry the 8th who believed in divine right he asked me a question, he never asked questions…"

There is a silence, a pause, a wrinkle in the ghost's brow, and I watch him think back,

"He asked me what divine right was… And of course as a teacher I responded, it is the belief that someone is chosen to rule by a higher being, and embodies that higher being on earth. Then he asked if there is a god. I remember saying that there are many mythical creatures and beings that we do not yet understand, but not a being that rules above all. He laughed."

I wonder, sitting here, in a seat, old and cracked, I wonder if he, Voldemort, had ever sat where I sit, touched the walls that I walk, visited my same dorm room, I wonder if the bed Scorpius sleeps in was ever slept in by him, I wonder. Professor Bins continues,

"His brilliance as he developed horcruxes for his body, as well as something else. He created a weapon, at the time the Order was led to believe it was a prophecy smashed in the battle where Sirius Black was killed. But others, before the prophecy was shown to Harry Potter in his sleep, through the eyes and manipulation of The Dark Lord, they believed there was another weapon, far greater than a crystal ball…."

I am at the edge of my seat, my breath quick, shallow, not a sound is heard, but the breathing and the heartbeats of us all.

"But it was not found, the weapon, it was lost, or perhaps never existed, a false pretence to get the Order afraid, suspicious. Or perhaps the Order was searching for the wrong thing, instead of a weapon they should have looked for a curse, a disease, spread from where the Dark Lord was born, where he lived originally, in the suburbs of London, in an orphanage, surrounded by those who had been forgotten by their parents, left for dead by their loved ones, in the sewers, dirty, scared, afraid. Weak."

My hands are shaking, clasped together under the desk,

"And there was the problem born. For perhaps when he was a boy he saw how unfairly treated the orphans were, never fostered, never adopted, thought of in society as less because they never got the chance at an education. And only the nice looking, younger ones were adopted, but the older the orphans got, the less chance they got to being taken in. So maybe he was upset at this, for he never did get adopted, maybe he was upset that his mother had left him so abruptly…"

The silence, the still, and darkness creeps on the walls, as if the shadows of the cloudy day were reflected off of them, he does not stop, voice rickety and hard to understand and yet I appreciate every word, an explanation, I hang onto every syllable,

"He was just a boy, but he started when he was very young, started playing tricks on the other orphans minds, and he began to believe, as he grew with age and time, that he would help them. The weakest of the weak, who were beneath him, and beneath those born pure, but in his twisted mind, they were also beneath all of society, of both societies, muggle and wizard, and without changing their place in society he used their weakness, gullible minds full of anger, hatred, and he created a curse…"

He pauses and blinks slowly, and then goes on,

"He wanted people to pay, the parents, the ones that consider themselves so good, people like Dumbledore, who believed they were making a difference, but people who also ignored a part of the world where that difference was chaotic. The curse he used is unknown, how he tied them together is, the message spread after the war ended, and Voldemort was killed, a message, just a whisper in the air, spread by his followers, haunting stories about rituals, ideas, beliefs,"

His hands are shaking slowly,

"Many believed that the Dark Lord maybe dead but the effects of his actions will still resound onto us. And three words were spread in the streets, whispered behind closed doors, at illegal meetings, in the deep dungeons of Azkaban, where these whispers formed into an idea, "Bound by Blood"…."

The three words hit me like bullets, and I swallow hard, eyes dry from not blinking, mind still from not thinking,

"The first attack was on deserters of the Dark Lord, pure blood families that switched sides at the last minute when they saw the losing battle, these attacks occurred in poisonings, destroying of property, but not murdering. And still society was unaware…"

My nails dig into the soft flesh of my palm, as I tremble, fists formed in hatred,

"But then they left a sign, high in the sky was the cymbal, hanging over Gringotts, only a year earlier to today, and under than sign, as the snake slithered through the skull was words, those same three words. And in the streets, as Gringotts went on strike for higher wages, in the chaos, another attack occurred, the first to last week. A goblin, head of the bank named Woordon Drook was hit with magic we have not seen since ancient texts and though he did not die, he left a message, carved into his flesh, right on top of his heart was their name, three words, but unlike the last three words, these held a meaning we could understand, "The Forgotten Ones"

The class is silent, everyone is silent.

"Most of what I have said is speculation mixed with facts, but history differs from facts to opinions to observations."

We nod, silent, still, there is nothing to say, and I think I forgot to breath, my lungs begging for air,

"We thought it was a message, or a rebellious group, but not till recently, with the murder of Mundungus Fletcher are we considering the Forgotten Ones to be a threat to our society. The two attacks line up only a week after the law passed by the D.A, extreme, but is now being considered to be retracted, as it was a law passed to secure a possible group, who we know not who they are, what they are, where they come from, or what they are doing, but they breed in the shadows, and fear made our government create a law to prevent any threat possible, that could rise from this…"

He is silent, and he watches us, quiet for minutes, as if he has nothing left to say, the seconds tick by and eventually when he does speak, his voice holds a different tone, happier, as if we did not just speak about monsters that walk our streets at night.

"You will have a 70 inch essay due this Friday describing ancient spells in Greece and their effect on the government today, which is Chapter 32, pages 700 to 843. Class dismissed."

And just like that the chatter is back, laughing, talking, the silence and the still ignored, as if it never happened, as if someone wasn't dead. My heart thuds in my chest, loud, and as I blink slowly I think back to the party, back, and back to the weeks previous to today,

"James I should go, it's late, we have school tomorrow…"

He nods, eyes trained on the stars, it's been minutes since he spoke, finally he does,

"I'm with Sheila… Rose, and I can't leave her behind, not this quickly, not without giving her a chance…"

I blink slowly, nodding, and look away, down and then up, smiling softly,

"I wasn't going to ask you to…"

He glances at me, eyes inquisitive,

"Why did you come? Here I mean, with me?"

He doesn't know, or perhaps he wants me to say it, I wonder if I know, I remember wondering if I know,

"I came because I was scared, and I don't think I am as scared when I am with you…"

He closes his eyes, eyelashes long, I admire the dark colour they are, I remember how I admired the way they looked in the moonlight,

"What are you scared of?"

I remember how his voice was deep, and sent a chill down my spine, so I decide to be honest,

"Fred told me there was an attack, and I said I was with you because he said I was with you…"

He squeezed his eyes shut, I remember watching his hand run through his hair, the soft tangle of each strand, I remember being mesmerized.

"I told him that without thinking, damn, I needed an alibi I am sorry Rose,"

He sounded earnest, even honest, as if he meant it, perhaps he did, I remember nodding slowly,

"I don't need your apologies, I respect that you thought it would work out, I respect that you respect me enough to say sorry…"

I remember him nodding eyes dark, light fires brewing,

"If he asks you again, say you want nothing to do with me, and he will ask again, until he gets an honest answer, he's persistent like that…"

I remember how I to nodded, eyes following his every breath,

"Goodbye Potter…"

He looked up at me, sitting on the little stone bench, legs crossed, he was so different to Fred, and even then, he looked elegant, composed, put together, as if he was good at that, being put together.

I remember how I stood and walked away, the dress floating around me. I remember regretting coming, regretting holding him, regretting and yet my heart did not regret only my mind.

"Rose? Right? Rose Thorne?"

I glance up, crashing into the present, eyes wide, and stare, Lola, a beautiful Hufflepuff stands before me, her hair is a long dark brown, eyes wide and golden but with specs of blue, she has a big heart, we met in first year, and I remember she laughed at something I said to Dom, I can't remember what but I remember how close her and Dom got, best friends, and still are, but not as close as the five of us are.

"Hey, what's up?"

I stand from my seat in Professor Bin's classroom, tossing a thank you for class over my shoulder as we walk out the door, side by side. Her voice is chipper when she speaks,

"I was wondering if you could introduce me to someone…"

I stare at her, and laugh, nodding slowly, she has a big heart, we met in first year, and I remember she laughed at something I said to Dom, I can't remember what but I remember how close her and Dom got, best friends, and still are, but not as close as the five of us are.

"Hey, what's up?"

I stand from my seat in Professor Bin's classroom, tossing a thank you for class over my shoulder as we walk out the door, side by side. Her voice is chipper when she speaks,

"I was wondering if you could introduce me to someone…"

I stare at her, and laugh, nodding slowly, my smile real and vivid,

"Yeah, of course, who do you want me to talk to for you?"

I watch her cheeks heat up and the blush spreads across her cheeks, I can't help but admire it, when I blush my entire face is a tomato and it sucks,

"Your divination partner, I was wondering you could introduce us…?"

I stop walking and so does she, turning to tentatively look at me. I wait, my brain connecting the dots,

"Wait, Lola, you want me to introduce you to _Potter?"_

She laughs softly, shaking her head,

"You sound surprised?"

I nod slowly, licking my lips, and I stretch my words out, talking slow, making sure she understands,

 _"_ _He has a girlfriend…"_

She blushes a darker shade of crimson,

 _"_ _Oh god no_ , I want to interview him for an article I am writing to send to the newspaper, the muggle newspaper…"

I glance at her, and start walking again, switching my bag to the other shoulder, distributing the weight, and scrunch my eyebrows together,

"Muggle newspaper? And how would interviewing a Potter affect that?"

She laughs at me, head thrown back and turns away, spinning as she laughs, only to face me again,

 _"_ _Silly,_ James has done a few, well a few is modest but, modelling in London, he is quite a sensation, since no one even knows his name, or who or where he came from. Though, he only does it to probably keep an image…"

I nod, lips turning upward, and stop walking turning to her,

"Fine, I'll tell the darling devil you want to see him that _definitely won't inflate his ego_ , and Lola, prepare yourself, one blink and you'll be in love…"

She rolls her eyes and yells "THANK YOU!" as she walks away. I wonder as I stand and watch her retreating form, I wonder if I knew that I could prevent it, her and James, and so much more, if I had just forgotten to tell her, or she had asked someone else, why me? Perhaps fate likes playing games with me and my life, but James is playing games with fate, and I wonder who will win.

As I continue to walk to my class I think back to last week Monday, I remember Fred, his hands grabbing me to stop me from leaving, as if to say wait.

I remember his eyes searching mine, I remember him asking me a final time, a last time,

"Were you with James that night, when Harry was attacked, were you Rose?"

And I sit, and I stared, at him, his eyes wide, the whites prominent, he wanted an honest answer, and I couldn't help but ask myself where my loyalties lie? James' words had ringed in my mind. Soft, loud, transparent, _"If he asks you again, say you want nothing to do with me..."_

I remember turning to face him, pulling my hand out of his grasp,

"Fred, I want nothing to do with James Potter, he has ruined my life…"

I remember my voice being loud, I remember Fred asking again and again, wanting me to say something, true, something real, I remember how the bigger half of me did not think James had just been buying me address, he had said he needed an alibi, which means he did something wrong, he had seen something, done something.

I remember looking Fred in the eye, and shaking my head, back and forth and back and forth and so on,

"James and I don't exist, and if you ask me that again I will tell him you doubt him, doubt your best friend, your cousin, _your blood relative…"_

Fred's voice was angry, I remember,

"Rose, are you threatening me?"

I remember backing away, quick; steps' going back one by one, my voice was timid, but still strong

"You and James are nothing alike, nothing,"

He towers over me, not as tall as James is, but still he did tower above me, and I remember his hand reaching for mine, reaching for me, I remembering going to leave, to walk away, and his hand closing in on my sleeve, and I remember the cloth ripping, as the sleeve to my blouse broke, and I remember as both watching the skin bared before him, and I remember the hiss of his breath, looking at the fading bruises, the almost gone fingernail marks, the barely visible hand marks that are almost gone, and then I remember running.

"Miss BlackThorne, are you skipping class?"

My eyes open, I am leaning against a wall, lost in thought, the hallway is empty, and I shake my head, as I look up at our Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. She is a tall woman, and I shake my head again,

"No Headmistress, sorry, I'll go to class immediately"

She nods and turns to stride away, but I stop her with words, soft in the still,

"Headmistress? Do you believe that the Forgotten Ones meant to attack Harry or do you think they failed at killing him?"

She stops and turns slowly, there is a long pause, and I start to think she won't answer, but eventually she does,

"No, I have seen it before they were sending a warning, a scare, a reminder that they exist, and we did not heed the warning, we did not subtract the law against them and their people, so then they showed their strength."

A pause, she glances at me slow, as if inspecting me,

"Good day Miss Thorne…"

I watch her leave and contemplate what she meant, and I cannot help but agree. And as I stand there, lost in thought, surrounded by a moment where I cannot help but try to understand, I feel, deep in my bones some sort of understanding of why the Dark Lord did it. And the understanding causes a chill to run through me,

And into the silence I whisper,

"Bound by Blood…."

And there standing, alone in a corridor, as I rush through my day, class after class, past dinner to my bed, in the Ravenclaw dorm room, sitting by the window, beginning to write the essay Bins gave us, my pen weary, my head lolling to the side, and just as my eyes slip shut, the door creaks open, quiet, so softly, just a crack, and a voice, a voice I know, I voice that belongs to the golden eyes, and so whatever should I do but listen, what would you do?

The room is dark, the blue walls etched in painted books that move with the day, random and confused. I can hear their voices, soft like music as they slip through the crack of the opened door, and into the room, through the thin walls. Their whispers send a shiver down my mind. His voice, soft like a heaven, like a pillow that I want to drown myself in, I want to, I look forward to…

"V, listen we can't end the world without respecting the good things about it,"

V responds, soft, she sounds as if she is comforting,

"Then convince them to get rid of the law that was passed, the Forgotten Ones will respect that…"

James' voice is quiet, but angry, barely held back, a harsh whisper, a harsh scream, hoarse and silent,

"I'm fourteen Veronica and for once I will be fourteen, I want this year to go by with laughing and fun and next year I will face the destruction that caused,"

He sounds broken and I feel myself stand, going to the door, and opening it, and there standing, is James Potter and Veronica Weasley and they both look at me, quiet, almost detached. Veronica sends me a faint smile, and reaches out, squeezing my hand. She glances at James and pulls him into a quick one armed hug, slipping by me, and going into our dorm, closing the door behind her.

We listen to the creak of the door close, the turn of the lock. And we observe each other, his golden eyes watch me, there are rings of black beneath his eyes, he is tired, he looks exhausted, hair smoothed back, he looks so formal, tall and clinging to the shadows, eyes trained on me. And slowly his eyes take me in, starting at my feet, and slowly moving up my legs, his gaze takes in every detail, every subtle change, the bare legs, covered in goosebumps, the soft blue slippers soft around my feet, the smooth skin, his eyes go upwards, over my hips, my thinghs where the soft night dress of cotton blue begins, covered in small blue daisys and white lace, his eyes go higher, up the curve of my waist, over the dip of my breasts, up and up,until the curve of my neck and my ccollarbones, and then up to me.

He looks at me, over my lips, over my high cheekbones, delicate face, the hair that is tangled in a long braid down my back, and to my eyes. I watch him take a deep breath as the seconds path and we simply observe eachother in a moment of solitude, soft and quiet, the still all consuming.

We face each other James and I, he looks exhausted, two weeks of mourning, all dressed in black, a black dress shirt, with black tight pants, a small black jewel dangling from his ear, I never knew he had piercings. But from what I can see it is just that one.

"James…"

He is going to leave, turning to leave, going away, and pauses at the sound of my voice,

"Yes Rose…"

I want to pull him close, but V is just on the other side of the thin wooden door, and his voice sounds off guard, as if he does not trust me coming closer,

He turns to leave again, and I grab onto his hand, warm, large, soft, strong, and slowly, so very slowly does his fingers curl around mine, holding my hand back and I squeeze it, the warmth slides through me, but no attraction, this is a moment of understanding, acceptance, where we meet and we come together as equals.

Finally I speak, softly; voice whispered across the hall, to him, we are now both hidden in the shadows,

"It's been a long two weeks…"

He nods slowly and faces me, golden eyes finding mine, they have no flames, but instead a thousand emotions and I want him closer, I want to help him, to trust him,

I continue, soft, my voice a whisper in the dark,

"It's been a long time, class is quiet without you, for once we can learn something,"

His lips twitch, I go on, he watches me go on, my lips form each word, each word slipping out, white teeth flashing,

"But it's not the same without you, it's awkward and though I appreciate the learning, no one else does,"

He steps forward and looks down at our hands and then softly before he leaves he says,

"It was quiet without you Black; no one argued with me or told me I'm a fool,"

"Which you are-"

He nods, slowly, his voice is like velvet, like a royal blue, gorgeous, lugubrious, I am lost in it,

"Maybe I am, but I feel so small, that maybe I am less than a fool,"

I shake my head and give his hand a squeeze, the warmth of his fingers, I can feel the soft pulse under his skin, I listen to it, and anticipate the next beat, the beat of his heart, and mine, coming together, in a moment with the shadows and the darkness,

"We are all fools at life James Potter, and me and you are no exception…"

He smiles and it lights up my world and I feel my cheeks flush, and then he speaks again, softly,

"You are Rose BlackThorne, you are an exception,"

I shake my head and step closer, softly,

"Am I? Because I am no Potter, no extraordinary, at most I would consider myself ordinary…"

He then shakes his head, walking closer and slowly steps closer and brings our hands up so that they are in front of our faces, and we both look at our hands, mine small, petite against his, and his large, swallowing mine whole,

"Why are you so small Rose…? Like a little precious thing that I could crush..."

I shake my head, smiling,

"You better not think about that Potter, or I will have to cut off you head…"

He steps closer again, and picks up my other hand, fingers intertwining with my own, and my eyes dip closed, head tipping back as a breath of utter awe whispers out of my lips, slipping past them, and as he replies I listen to the curve of his voice,

"I would be honoured Rose, honoured if you did anything..."

A pause and then he continues,

"Your hands are so warm, and your eyes…"

I take a deep, soft breath,

"Yes..?"

He looks at our hands and then lets them go, leaving me, turning to leave me,

"Your eyes are extraordinary; every part of you is…."

And then he is gone.

Leaving me at the top of the stairs with a warm hand and an emotion I don't understand. But standing here I wonder if I missed him, because the days did feel empty, and unimportant, so I did miss him, and the realisation scares me, causing me to bring that hand to my chest, holding it close.

And into the dark I say,

"I missed you James Potter, merlin, I missed you…."


	15. Of nightmares and golden dreams

Chapter 15: Of nightmares and golden eyes

~James' POV~

Have you ever stood and considered. Times going by like the end of everything, and yet here you are still breathing. Have you ever asked why that is possible? Have you ever seen your fathers head bowed in tears unshed, have you ever heard your mother's voice a thousand miles away saying it will be okay. When I was younger they lived for each other, and I for them, there was no going back. But now, the cameras flashing are white, and they leave spots of a haunted look in my eyes, and the makeup is heavy under my lids, and the tears haven't come. And so we all stand, lined up in black. The children's hair done nicely, the rain pouring down around us, ordinary.

The scene reminds me of a stage, but beyond the curtains, and the white tents, is graves lined, one after the other, and though the mist is thick I can still read a few of their names, Albus Dumbeldore, Lily Potter, James Potter, Sirius Black, Cornelius Fudge, Remus Lupin, Mad eye Moody, Fred Weasley, Bellatrix Black, the people we lost, and the people we loved, and perhaps, as we add another grave, and another tear, and another ordinary day that went horribly wrong to the mix, are we doing it justice, the world justice, him, Mundungus justice?

And we don't smile; we look past the lights and onto the graves before us, etched with names I have only heard in history books. A history my father created, and my mind is blown, for there is no going back for them, and I wonder if they lived every day like it was their last, if they had one more kiss, one more sip of life before they went, were they able to tell that death had begun to hunt them, their sacrifice is remembered but sometimes I forget.

And so we stand, rows of black, lace, embroider, silk and ash, rose petals float from the sky as if a symbol of some sort of hell and heaven crashing into our own world. I reach out, palm up, and the red falls onto my hand, a petal, soft like velvet, thick and thin, textured but beautiful. I swallow hard, there is no going back, and so here I am, James Sirius Potter, a title, a name I never chose, but now, here, I wish I did not have that last name, that was a scar within itself, that scared me, it terrified me.

And then my father clears his voice and the blurry world comes into focus, and from the rain raises a great man, still great, maybe better than he was once, a little more broken, a little frailer, but his eyes are steady, and his gaze does not slip, and so I watch him… Everyone does, everyone has always been watching him, since day one, and to his last. He looks tired, but his head is still high, the circles are prominent but he will not bow, and I can't help but feel a type of pride, how lucky I must be to know someone so great, so brave?

And then he speaks, and the silence listens to him, as do I,

"I remember the first time I saw the Order of the Phoenix…"

I watch the way his eyes stay focused on something beyond the cameras, beyond the lined chairs, me, Gin, Lil, Al, everyone, as if the horizon line is the only thing that will never change, never wither, never die, I get that, or perhaps he looks at it, the distance so the tears don't come, because the distance is far away enough from us, from everything for it to be okay. He continues,

"The house, all of them, the table was just a normal one, wooden, like the one in every single persons kitchen, long, and surrounding that table was ordinary people who had hearts of gold, and they still smiled when I walked in the room, they still had kind eyes, after all they had seen and done… I remember thinking that was miraculous…"

A pause, everyone's eyes are on him, including mine, the weight of the world, and he is struggling to stand, to breath, his voice is bare, as if the bravery to stand in front of us is causing him to crumble, but he is great, for he still stands, chin up, eyes steady, I don't think I could be that brave, reckless, that's my middle name, but not brave.

"Mundungus Fletcher was a thief, and a gutter rat, but that doesn't mean he was a bad person. I admit he did not face the war with us, that he changed sides, and was not by us when the victory of Hogwarts occurred… But he is here now, in the earth beneath our feet, in each droplet of rain from the sky, every single dream and every single memory as we all had a glimpse at his life… There is no good and bad, there is human and human, humans we make mistakes, and I have made mistakes…"

I take a deep breath, my hands are balled in fists by my side, and I watch him, he is so brave, up there…

"When something like this happens you consider how much of it you could have changed, how much of it you had the power to change, and yet, you are shocked every time that if you blame yourself, somehow it'll all be your fault. I could have stopped him from leaving Hermione's party but I didn't…"

He pauses, and swallows hard, as I do so often, the movement mirrors me, and for a moment I think the crowd is wrong, perhaps he and I are more alike, for he has shadows hidden behind his eyes, but Albus, innocent, not yet, thank merlin. He licks his lips, and goes on,

"I want to thank him for his life, to celebrate his life, for no life goes uncounted. Not every man can be said to be great, but no one can understand true greatness. We make messes, and here, today, me and my family morn one of our own, our own friend, and our own mess…"

My eyes leave his form and go to the grass, watching it turn in the breeze, each soft movement, and then I open my hand and I look down at the crumpled rose petal, cracked, no longer perfect, but was it ever? I wince, and look away, unable to face the deformed flower petal, it means so much, or perhaps it also means nothing, and that devours me more. My father's voice brings me back to the moment at hand,

"He did not deserve such a death, where his flesh was burned into, carved into, veins pulled out, covered in bile, and his breath stinking of ail, he did not deserve to be a victim of my mistake… And I have made a mistake, and take full responsibility for his death…"

And I feel my breath sucked in and my eyes close. Beside me, my mother sits, if my father is great than she is the goddess of greatness, her eyes never leave his, and the way she watches him, even now, is with a love so brutally honest that it seems almost too real, too direct. I remember when I was younger my parents never fought, they smiled, and laughed at each other's mistakes, they loved each other, as if love was all they saw, and when I came into their world, they loved me too. Without the cameras they were so very ordinary, yes the house was big, and the balls grand, but our little table of three, and then Albus, four and then Lily, five, made us complete. She had a way with children, my mother, she would yell at us, but as equals, always wanting to hear our excuse and always valuing the truth over age, and respect over everything. But love, love ruled supreme and so we were happy, as we are now.

My father continues his voice raw, his eyes straight, but, he glances, long, at ma, he watches her as if she is all he sees, they say they did not love each other immediately, in fact the press often pushes that Hermione and my father had an affair, but no, the press, the world, they do not see the way they look at each other, as if without each other there is nothing, and perhaps, though I cannot understand, a love like that will one day exist for me. A love greater than theirs, stronger than theirs, stronger than anyways, I glance at the rose petal again, and out of it her voice, soft whispers, _"Nothing is the end of the world, just the beginning of a new one"_

And so he goes on, words flowing like liquid silver, like medicine over a wound, his voice like a sad lullaby, just enough gravel and deepness that you depend on, I can depend on,

"I wish I had a chance to thank him, to thank all of them before they fell. In a world where darkness breeds in the shadows we must be thankful always, because people will leave before we get to say goodbye. But this is not a goodbye, this is a celebration, for every good thing he has done, for every time he brought his disgusting apple pie to the order meetings, to every time he said, 'Blimey its Harry Potter' in his English drawl, for every time he tried to pull up his trousers, every time he begged Mrs. Weasley to pack him a basket of food to take home, every time he came through…"

There is a pause and he smiles slow, hands grasping both sides of the podium, his eyes do not leave my moms, and she smiles back, she is not crying, she is strong, and she nods slowly, encouragingly, reassuring him that it will be okay, and though it is such a small gesture, he looks reenergized, strengthened, empowered,

"Every time…. He came through every time…. I remember when James was born I sat him on my knee and I said, every time we lose someone I lose a part of me, so James you need to be always ready for goodbye, because it will come before your ready…. And perhaps I shouldn't have been telling that to a one year old, and Ginny did scold, but I believe, now, more than ever, we must be prepared, we must become one, and as one we are strong. We are unbreakable."

And then he smiles, wide, and slow, sad, and full of a regret I don't know, and I don't understand,

"So let us raise our glasses to a man who lived life well, Mundungus Fletcher!"

A glass is placed into my hand, not champagne, but a liquid that looks similar, but I don't drink it, I watch, I watch the way my mother stands and goes to him, her hands wrapping around him, I watch the way they hold each other, words exchanged that we cannot hear, she leans into him and he leans into her, as if they keep each other standing, breathing, living. I swallow hard, it is too beautiful to watch, I feel like an intruder watching on, and so I turn away, and a voice breaks the still,

"I didn't think you'd come,"

I swallow hard, and sigh, running a hand through my hair, the rain making it damp, his voice is beautiful, a work of art, and yet it is familiar as well,

"Well here I am…"

A pause, and then I continue, he listens, I talk

"Al, do you ever think you'll love someone that much?"

I turn to look at my brother, and I mean really look at him, the bright green intelligent eyes remind me of my father's pictures when he was young, he's gained some weight, so he no longer looks like as much of a scare crow, his eyes, those eyes hold a sadness that seems to mirror my own, perhaps him and I are more alike than everyone thinks, perhaps he is just the better, younger me, or perhaps not. He wears a wrinkled suit, no effort or make up beneath his eyes, he does not fear what people think, or more like he is trying to prepare himself for the worst.

He considers my question, and then rolls his shoulders back, sighing,

"I don't know Jay, sometimes I think it's beyond us, their love, too rare for us to ever grab hold of,"

I nod and then I pull him close, an arm going around his slim figure, and slowly his hands come up and hold me, warm, warmth to the cold, and I can't help but let go of a breath, his arms, his fluffy hair, like mine, never staying down, just a little lighter, a dark brown, to my black,

"James, I know…. Crap, I know you were trying to help with Scorpius but…"

I shake my head, slow,

"Let's not talk about that right now, later, kay?"

He nods, and watches me, and so we watch each other, we watch each other more, and we watch each other breath and slowly the tenseness in our shoulders relaxes, as we hold onto each other, thunder roaring in the background, as the rain falls in sheets, hiding us from the cameras, from the world, and the black clothes become heavy with every drop, with every memory, and eventually he speaks, looking at me with wide eyes,

"Jay, I heard you and Sheila were arguing yesterday, I didn't mean to overhear, but…"

My body freezes and then relaxes as I sigh, and pull away slightly to look at him, quirking an eyebrow,

"But?"

He pulls away and places both hands on my shoulders and tilts his head,

"But she isn't the right one, not for you, she just, well she doesn't get you…"

I watch him, his eyes are kind, he is kind, born into a world too harsh, he deserves the best, and yet… Here we are… I look away and up at the sky raging above us, the water droplets cling to my eyelashes and spill down my face as the rain and the salt and it all comes down, like a thunderstorm, except I cannot see the lightning, only hear the constant boom.

Eventually I speak, and the words, they surprise me, and they surprise him, for I am never honest, I admit, and my voice is soft as I say, and I as I speak I look down at the crumpled rose petal, dark like blood, its fragrance washing over me,

"There is someone else…"

He scrunches his eyebrows together, and scoots closer, and I look back at him, and smile softly and continue, my voice staying soft, almost timid, like admitting it is scarier than anything else,

"She is like a hot cup of coco on a winter day,"

I laugh softly and glance away and back at him, eyes shining,

"She is brilliant but I don't know her, in fact thinking about it I don't know anything about her…."

Albus smiles slow, beautiful, it reminds me of a summer day, his smile, and it is contagious,

"Does she deserve you?"

I chuckle,

"No, the question is, do I deserve her, and the answer for that is probably no,"

He shakes his head slowly,

"You are the best of the best Jay; no one deserves the best,"

I shake my head slowly,

"No Al, you're the best, and about Malfoy, I shouldn't have, I should have…"

I sigh, a hand running through my hair and squeeze my eyes shut,

"I should have thought about how you would have felt, but I was selfish and jerkish… If that's a word,"

It's his turn to chuckle,

"Come on your James Bloody Potter if you didn't invent words every now and then no one would believe you were human… Right?"

I push his shoulder, and grin softly,

"Al?"

He looks at me, straight on, lips turned up slightly, and squeezes his eyes shut, saying,

"Yeah Jay?"

I shake my head, and hit him over the head with my other hand,

"Shut the hell up, and stop forgetting I am older than you and therefore more wise, _obviously,"_

He laughs full on, eyes crinkling at the sides just like dad's does,

"James?"

It is my turn to look at him straight on,

"Yes Albus Severus Potter?"

He rolls his eyes,

"You better hope you are smarter than me because it would really suck if you were more of an idiot than the black sheep,"

I stop laughing and shake my head slow, eyes downcast,

"You're not… Everyone loves you, because you are you without an act, and that's the bravest act of them all. No, I act, I play a role, and therefore not everyone knows me, hell I don't know me, but you, you're you, and they either like you for that person or don't…."

He nods slow and then rolls his eyes again,

"Jay, how do you jump from happiness to depression in literally a split second, _teach my your ways,"_

I roll my eyes back at him, but I am interrupted from answering, small hands wrap around my face and hide my eyes, they are delicate, the skin soft, and a voice accompanies the soft hands,

 _"Guess who!"_

I sigh and lean back, feeling her tiny little body against my back,

"Huh, who could it ever be?! _I wonder,"_

Suddenly the hands leave my face and jabs me in the side, causing me to splutter in pain,

"Stop using sarcasm to make me inferior, you may be older but I am cooler _by far,"_

I spin around and stare at the little red head. Ah yes, my sister Lily Luna Potter, a spitting image of my mother, her red hair falls to her waist, her eyes are also green, like a meadow on a summer day, I believe they sparkle, as if she was born secretly to be a disco ball. Her dress is on backwards, with the zipper right up her front, and the flowers in the back, and her bangs are all in her eyes. Her hands are on her hips, her chin in the air, she has lipstick smeared across her right cheek, and some on her teeth making her look like a vampire. Her lips are pursed and I can see her dimples. She is so short and small, like a cuddly little puffy ball I could squeeze to death, as weird as that sounds,

My voice is heavy with sarcasm and amusement when I speak again,

"You definitely are cooler than me, _no joke,"_

My lips split into a grin but I quickly fix them back into a straight line, she pouts adorably,

"Jamie, you are pure evil, you should eradicatededs"

I chuckle, and Al leans over my shoulder, eyebrows arched, voicing his opinion,

"Lil, you mean eradicated,"

She sticks out her tongue at us both, hair falling into her eyes,

"You both are evil, and this is so boring, and I didn't get champagne, I want champagne, Jamie, can you sneak me some champagne cause you love me, _and if you do I'll give you…."_

She goes into deep thought, her face all scrunched up,

"I'll give you a kiss, a big fat kiss on your cheek, or your forehead…."

She ponders for a moment, and me and Al watch her endearingly, the way she blows out her cheeks and brings her eyebrows together, crossing her eyes, she has the best expressions,

"How many girls do you think, Jay, would kill me if I kissed you, I'm thinking ten mil, _at least,"_

I clutch my sides as I laugh and then cover my mouth and swear under my breath,

"Lil, this is supposed to be a funeral, stop making me laugh!"

She grins and starts twirling around, imitating one of her favourite muggle singers,

I face plant, burying my face in my hands, head shaking; I feel Albus' laughter from behind me, the moment is perfect, it is, and I live for a moments like this, where we are all, all three of us, one.

She eventually stops spinning and stumbles into my lap, sighing, and tugging at her dress,

"Do I look nice Jamie?!"

Her sincerity is impossible to take seriously since I just noticed the purple eye shadow above her eyebrow, and hide my face in my hands as I laugh, unable to look at her ridiculous form, and big inquisitive eyes, she huffs,

"Fine, Al, do I look nice?"

Albus, always the better brother of the two of us, smiles softly,

"Absolutely stunning, always hun!"

She grins, and hits my leg softly,

"Why can't you be nice like Al, you dolt!"

I cough, and pretend to look hurt,

 _"You what?"_

She laughs outright,

"I SAID YOU DOLT!"

I ruffle her hair, and trying my best to keep a straight face, and finally respond,

"You do look very pretty, but you would look even nicer if you put your dress on right Lil,"

Albus cracks up, and buries his face in my shoulder, snarfing as he laughs,

Lily looks very confused and looks down at her dress,

"What, what's wrong with it?"

A voice breaks through the laughter, the voice of an angel, the voice of someone who you could love forever, she always knows exactly what to say, in my opinion she is the best mom out there, the best mom simply because she puts up with us, always. She is tall, shapely, as you already know from my friends constant comments, her hair used to be long but now stops at her shoulders, she wears a long black dress, but over it she has Lil and Al's poke dotted rain coats, so elegant is not the exact word I would use, and her voice, soft, ringing like bells, she smells like Christmas, like cinnamon and nutmeg, like Eggnog, especially with the champagne fresh on her breath,

"Oh darling you have it on backwards,"

Lily looks at her and pouts, huffing and crossing her tiny arms over her chest as she leans into me, head lolling back until her chin points skyward and her eyes glare at me,

"Maaaa, they are making fun of me!"

I watch my mother laugh, her smile is soft, like a warm hug,

"That's what brothers are for hun, you just gotta put them in their place trust me I grew up with six boys,"

Me and Al defend ourselves, yelling about how Lily had harassed us and we had to defend our precious honour, and she stood through it all, head tilted to the side and smiling, eventually we all stop to catch our breaths and she speaks,

"Whatever did I do to deserve you all?"

I smile at her with my eyes, and Al perches his chin on my shoulder, Lily climbs onto my other shoulder and starts to try to choke me, while Al reaches for her tiny waist and tries to pull her off of me, but I simply watch her, she has bags under her eyes, and wrinkle etch her skin, and yet she still looks young, just stressed, and she watches us, her eyes finding mine, and her eyes smile back at mine, they don't wrinkle at the sides, then again neither do mine. One day I hope to be half as good of a parent as she is, that would be enough.

Lily yanks at my hair and I scream, attempting to stand up and shake her off,

"Not the hair Lily! You have no idea how precious my hair is; it has a net worth you know! You don't have enough money to pay for it if you pull it out!"

Lily screams back, her mouth right next to my ear,

"I'll rob a bank or two, stop being so bossy!"

Mom breaks in again,

"You three will get us kicked out! Ugghh!?"

Another voice, father, dad, the greatest of the great, he looks more tired than mom, but his voice is deeper, and when he speaks people listen, I look up to him, hell the whole world does,

"Give it a rest Gin, the poor things, it's been two weeks since they've gone to school,"

Al chuckles, and stands, stretching like a cat, shoulder rolling back,

"Trust me dad we don't miss it, plus it's nice to see the family, us three, we hardly see each other in school anyway"

My dad wraps his hands around my mom, pulling her close, but mom looks worried, a naught in her brow,

"Why?"

I look down, and then glance at Al, giving him a 'what are you doing look' and stand, Lily on my shoulders, still clawing at my hair, unaware of what we are talking about,

"We do, just not every day…. With Quidditch and projects, we are busy, we all have different classes and different lives…"

My mom arches her eyebrow,

"No, James, I told you this is Lil's first year, she needs you all, what if she doesn't have friends? Or-or, or if she gets lonely,"

I nod slow and smile softly, I am taller than my mom, but Al and her are the same height, but her personality makes her into a giant, and I don't want to argue, not with her, not today, never.

Lily's little voice breaks into the conversation,

"I'm not lonely, I have lots of friends, and though Jamie should see me more, I meet up with Al twice a week, during lunch, he always brings me something fluffy,"

I wince, but don't show it, I should be there for her, out of everyone she deserves the most, and yet she wraps her hands around my face, covering my eyes, her tiny legs hanging down around my neck, and yet she still loves me, holding onto me, being there for me, when I am not there for her. I should be, out of everyone she is the very best, and Al gives me a long searching look and mouths, "It's okay," quietly and I nod small, but understanding,

A new voice breaks into the conversation,

"Excuse, may we get a photo of the family, all together?"

I lick my lips and glance over, at mom and dad, they nod, smiling respectively, and I go to take Lily from my shoulders but the camera man stops me and smiles, he is old, hands frail, hair grey,

"If it is okay Mr. Potter you can leave her, it's nice to see you all so natural, especially at such a public event,"

I nod small, and Al grins wrapping his arm around my shoulders, and sticking his tongue out at Lil, just as mom leans over and kisses dad on the cheek causing him to smile quietly and the camera flashes, that moment captured forever in its lenses, in the world, forever.

And my breath catches, there is that word again, and her words, they ring in my ears,

 _"And what would you know about forever James Potter?"_

 _And I murmur softly, smiling slowly, "Nothing…"_

Al glances at me, eyes narrowing quickly,

"What?"

I glance back and sigh, grinning slow, and say it louder, but now with less meaning,

 _"Nothing..."_

And I look at my hand, the rose petal crushed, and sigh and then I let it go, it slips through my fingers and falls to the ground, hitting, with a boom…

 **THREE WEEKS LATER**

She stands radiant, hair neat, eyes forward, and yet her hands shake and she shivers as she stands in front of us all. Her voice begins as a haunting whisper, hunting me with her words. She clears her throat, she doesn't look at me or at anyone, and perhaps it helps with her nerves to focus on nothing. I tilt my head and watch her lick her lips, she is small behind the podium, afraid in front of the crowd. The piece of paper is wrinkled in many places, and of all the speeches presented today how did I not know she was giving one?

The prefect meeting for votes on how to change Hogwarts for the next year has been continuously pushed back, and thankfully though patrols started the day after the funeral, as fourth years were excused.

She clears her throat again, and speaks, her voice like a lullaby, starting awkward and quiet and building in strength with her words,

"When I first got my letter to Hogwarts I was shocked, I had no idea what magic was, an innocent to this world, that you were breed into, born into."

She pauses her eyes lowered, her voice shakes, and she is scared, of the eyes, the lights that shine on her, the way we watch her, unfairly, judging her on her beliefs before knowing who she even is. She goes on,

"I learned quickly that your world is incredible, there are no limits to the extraordinary, and though you may think your world is ordinary, to us, the ones who are lucky enough to be brought into it, it is mind blowing. So I understood how much luck I had been given, the chance of a lifetime to become someone, something. And so here I am,"

Another pause, she takes a breath, her lashes long slip over her skin, decorated in soft freckles, she does not blush, and she looks empowered, as if the stage is starting to give her strength.

"We are all equals as we stand in this room, but tell me, do you consider me, a muggle born, raised in London's suburbs, with robes full of holes and books with cracked pages, your equal? We have arrived from the generation that's purpose was to end these problems, this rift between our people, but are you truly aware that the percentage of muggle born in Hogwarts now, has gone down as to when Voldemort was alive?"

My eyes leave her form for a moment. Yes, the answer to her question scares me, I was aware, but what have I done to change that? Another answer comes to mind, _nothing._

"Our parents made a choice to fight against those ideologies or for them, and here we are, where the outcome of their lives, the lives a war costed, are not yet appeased, because I am still called a Mud blood when I walk by you, I am still spit upon, I am still inferior. So I wondered, as I wrote a speech to convince you that change is for the best, and as I wondered I came to a realization. If you need inspiration look at history, if you need convincing go to the grave yards where the muggles are lined up, murdered, raped, pillaged. But you can already do those two things, you are not blind, we are not blind, but we prefer blindness to blame…."

I swallow hard, and my hands are forming fists, I shift in my seat, and watch her, a thousand thoughts going through my mind, she is not shaking anymore, she looks indignant, as if she could destroy a million worlds with just that gaze, and with it she destroys my heart, and I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them again, slow,

"So what is it that prevents us from moving on from the differences in races and cultures alike? In both worlds we fear change, the muggles will not accept all forms of sexuality, race, and you will not accept us as a whole, so we are in an endless cycle, and yet most of us believe it is wrong, I'll tell you now you can do something, stand up, raise your hand and your voice as one, us as one, we are the new, the generation of change, we are the next, we will take over this society eventually, one of us will sit on the seat of Minister of Magic, one of us will have to make decisions for our nation, though it may not be someone in this room, let us start making that influence now…."

My lips are parted, she looks like an angel, her eyes are powerful, her hands forming small fists in the paper, and she is not trembling anymore, she is not afraid, she has a power that seems to make her glow, as if she is the one above us,

"Raise your hand if you are of muggle birth, don't feel ashamed…"

I watch her raise her hand, her chin raising with it, her eyes seem to shine, and I look around, the room is full all the prefects and teachers, as well as class presidents in all classes in all forms, around two hundred people, and yet as I watch the hands go up, I can only count twenty five, and shame, like a ripple spreads across the room, eyes downcast, whispers like a hurricane,

She looks down, her hand lowering, and then back up, eyes like a typhoon at sea, her chest rises and falls fast,

"We are just like you, let me explain that more in depth, do you think we have a different bone structure, a different way we see, a different way we digest our food? What is it that makes us so much less than you, are we not technologically advanced, do we not have our own special type of magic through wires and screens where we are all connected and intertwined like you do?"

She looks genuinely confused, as if trying to understand something that makes no sense, and I feel guilt, in waves, in whirl winds,

"I am just like you, I get pimples, I trip over air, I run into walls, I can't do a lot of things, I am only good at something I study, I am only good at something I work hard on, I get stressed, I have fun, and most of the time I am confused, and lost as to what I am supposed to be doing, just like you. So what makes you think we are so different, we are all one. The one because we can all be connected by magic, that courses through my veins like adrenaline and into yours, we are all interconnected. So we are all one, and yet you do not want us to be one with you, or perhaps you want us to be but you believe you have no power…."

She nods slowly, eyes not finding mine, eyes not finding anyone, and then, she looks right at me, and I look at her, and she smiles, slowly, and arches a brow, and I nod in encouragement, smiling back, slow, timid at first, and something comes alive in her eyes, like the first flash of lightning, like the first hit at a fight, the first knife to the back, the first one to break my heart,

"Or perhaps you just need a reminder that we are here. Hogwarts is 43 percent half blood, 17 percent pure blood, 30 percent mixed, 10 percent squibs and muggles. How does that make sense? Hogwarts student population is 10 thousand, that means one thousand students are like me, like you, like us, or shunned from society and unable to do magic. It's a number so what should it mean to you?"

I blink slow and look down, hands knotted together, and breath hard, eyes shining back at her, and I look around, they have stopped whispering and they watch her, and I wonder if they know who she is, she must be so brave, to stand on a stage where all eyes do not waver, wondering, asking in their minds who is she? I wish they did not look at her as if she was some chess figure on a board of their design, and at the same time, they need to, to look at her, to wake up, to realise, and perhaps I also do, and for what have I done? She is now standing with feet planted, no longer afraid, but powerful, brilliant, it is as if she has caught a flame, as if she is the future, the past and the present, and my heart is thudding with her every word, my heart is listening, my mind forgotten, am I? Am I in…? I stop the thought and focus back on the speech, not her, never her,

"There is no going back, our future is paved by our intentions, our hopes, our actions and our words, we are all here, we made it, yay us, but what about those that were not sent this golden opportunity in that ivory envelope, what about those who were not given this, this life that we take for granted every day, including myself…. Where are they now, while we are here, can you imagine, living your entire life unaware that there is another world, with magic, with freedom, another type of wire that spreads with sparks, can you even think of what it must be like, never getting on that train, never eating a feast of food that disappears and reappears, never going to another one of Hagrid's classes, never walking the grounds and swimming in the lake, flying?"

She stops and she puts her paper down and she looks out, at us all, and unlike my father she looks at us, each and every one, meeting the eyes, she is not afraid, she was born for that stage, for that podium, for this, and I can see her now becoming someone great, so perhaps this story is not just a romance but a tale of someone who rose from nothing into something, into more than that.

"It is no longer up to them; we are the future, us, me and you…. I can no longer sit by and watch two worlds ignore each other's existence, we know they are there, so we are the ones that must make the introductions and create that one, are we not cowards for not already doing so?"

She steps forward, eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk for prey, my pulse beats with her words, my eyes are open wide, and my ears they hear everything she says as if her words are bullets, bombs, knives that carve my flesh, and my breath matches her words like thunder, and I am lost before I am found, I am hers for the taking, I am hers for the remembering, I am hers for it all, and I cannot move away, I cannot leave her behind, because, because why? And so she goes on,

"Today, we get to vote, we get to have a say, on what we should change in Hogwarts, here, now, we can make this change, we can make Hogwarts a safe haven for all, not just those who were lucky enough… A chance, a letter that's all… Hogwarts is the best of the best; it has people from all over the world, from all over and yet all over your world. We can change that, and yes change is terrifying, yes change is not easily accepted, yes change is often thought of as rebelling, but the alternative, to sit and do nothing, and not help others, others' lives, that is foolish, and taking the easy way out will get us nowhere but backwards."

She stands, breathing hard, hands clutched around herself, chin raised, she is not crying though her eyes shine like glass, and if we had known, if I could have known that that girl, would rise to a woman, to the future of our nation, she was right, someone in this room would become the Minister of Magic, but how wrong she was to be looking everywhere but at the mirror. Her voice is booming and beautiful, it is an orchestra, a crowd, a symphony, and I listen, I'm good at that,

"We have no power on our own, but together let us change the world, because we all equals, we all have the same system that keeps our bodies alive, the same necessary arteries to breath, to live, so let us keep us alive, through each other there is no stopping the future, not if we all agree to it, because I am done with being looked down upon, from being less, because I am just like you, we are all just like you, and we are not less educated just simply unaware of the world that spins on just out of reach, just brushing our fingertips, just a step away, so let us step for them…. After all we are next generation, the new, and though the old was remarkable, it is time we become responsible for our own future, as well as theirs…."

She pauses, and takes a deep breath,

"Thank you for your time"

And so she is gone…

The clapping is loud, but my hands don't move, perhaps because if they moved everything would fall apart…. And I am standing, and the crowd moves with me, and she walks away, and V grabs her pulling her close and I watch, the eyes looked at her but she did not put on an act, she was herself, and I swallow hard, I can't help but wonder, will I ever be that brave?

And I am walking, away, the voting took hours, and the eyes follow me like hawks, they notice the way my hair falls, the way I walk, and I want to keep going, but I can't and so I am walking up and up, the stars are not yet out, the world is not yet asleep and yet the colours of the sky setting still catches my breath, the robes are heavy, but the wind is cold, and there is frost carried in the air. It's been weeks, or perhaps days, time is lost when there is nothing to hold onto. Perhaps the world coming back into focus with a daily routine is good, but winter break is coming up soon, as December approaches, and classes get more intense, perhaps it is better for us to all focus on the school work, better,

"I thought I'd find you up here,"

Her voice is happy, and perhaps curious, or perhaps I am imagining, and my back relaxes with her words, and I feel my lips twitch,

"I didn't hear you come up,"

My voice is quiet, her feet are silent, so I wonder where she is, behind me, in the doorway, hiding behind its threshold, or before it, I wonder….

When she answers me, her voice holds an interest, and amusement, and I listen to her words and smile, she says,

"That's because you're lost in that empty head of yours Potter,"

I nod slow, lips twitching, and close my eyes, head tilting up and I feel the soft rays of the sun on my skin,

"I was just thinking about winter coming…"

She laughs, and steps forward, this time I hear it, the soft scrape of her shoe, the whisper of the wind through her hair,

"Right, because you definitely have enough brain cells to think,"

I shrug my shoulders, and tilt my head back, laughing quietly,

"Are you implying I don't, or simply jealous that I look this good thinking,"

She scoffs, and steps back many times, one, two, three, four,

"No, neither, simply stating a known fact that it is impossible for James Potter to think,"

I laugh, teeth flashing, tongue dashing over my lips, and deepen my voice,

 _"Ouch"_

Her back connects with the wall as she laughs, we are quiet for a moment, and then she asks, her voice honest, no fault in asking an honest question and yet it still surprises me, not that she needs to know that is capable of surprising me,

"What about the winter?"

My eyes open and I turn to face her, she watches me and I watch her, both of our eyes laugh at each other, both of us trying to guess what the other is thinking, she arches her right eyebrow and I arch my left, her left eye looks away, and as does my right, she quirks her head to the side I go to the opposite direction and she scoffs.

I lick my lips and smirk, my voice deep,

"Snowball fights, and hot coco by the fire, dripping coats, and warm hugs, lots of lights, smiles that are electric, and maybe a Rose BlackThorne?"

She laughs and her hands fly to her face, and she peeks out at me from between her fingers, eyes wide, and chuckles again and then covers her face, and screa,s

" _A WHO?"_

I chuckle, and my hands find my pockets, the material is soft,

"You don't know her?"

She shakes her head, hands going to her waist, and then wrapping around herself, she glances at the floor and then me, smiling and then trying to play serious,

"No idea, never heard of a Rose, what a horrible name, poor thing,"

I grin, and arch my brows,

"I rather like it; it rolls off the tongue rather nicely,"

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes,

"You need mental help,"

I nod, pretending to get serious, or perhaps I am becoming serious,

"No, but actually, what about it?"

She glances at me, quickly and looks away and leans off of the wall and walks over to the railing, clearing her throat,

"What about what?"

I roll my eyes, she knows exactly what I mean but I keep going, no matter how much she plans to pretend that I didn't just ask her, well, didn't ask her that. My voice is inquisitive, and slightly exasperated, just to get her annoyed, and I stroll over, leaning casually on the banister, lip caught between my teeth,

"About coming to the Potters for Christmas, unless you have something more important coming up,"

She giggles, and glances at me out of the corner of her eye,

"I'll have to check my calendar,"

I chuckle again, and shake my head,

"You must have a very busy schedule,"

She nods, pretending to be serious,

"Yes, sleep, eat, sleep, study, and maybe eat some more…."

I nod, and step forward and she turns and faces me, and she looks away,

"No James, I can't do that, I can't run away to your house-"

I break her mid-sentence,

"It's an estate"

Her eyes roll, and she glares at me, nodding repeatedly,

"Right, that stresses my point more, I can't do that, James, you know that…."

I laugh slowly,

"Don't you want to spend a holiday with your friends, V, Dom, Lucy, Rox, if I invite you, you can see them, I… Merlin Black, do you think us Potters are that bad?"

She laughs slow, a pause, and then she changes the subject quickly,

"How did you vote?"

I smile slow, and watch her, the way her eyes find mine, and then go beneath them, as if she is trying not to fall into them…

"For you, your speech, thank merlin everyone was looking at you, I was legit sobbing in the background,"

Though my voice is jokey, the sincerity is recognised in her eyes, and she laughs again, hitting me over the head,

 _"Ow!"_

I clutch my head in fake pain, and she holds her stomach as she laughs, I watch her hair fall back as her head tips back,

"Black? In all seriousness you've got a talent for the stage, or perhaps you are just very convincing,"

She shakes her head, and smile softly, lips not making a full one, but hiding beneath emotion and skin and bone,

"They just needed a nudge in the right direction, honest, I lack talent, I'm like a talentless marshmallow,"

She giggles at her own joke and I roll my eyes, leaning on the railing,

" _Marshmallow?_ You sure you're okay, 'cause I think you are a little delirious…"

She grins, dimples forming,

"Yes Marshmallow, it's the right season for the little ones, you put them in the hot coco, and you watch them melt and they taste like happiness, even though I've never had tiny marshmallows, I can imagine how they must taste like happiness, anything tiny is adorable…"

I smile softly and murmur under my breath,

"That's why you're so adorable…"

She splutters and anger shoots from her eyes,

 _"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY! I AM FORMIDABLE!"_

I take cover, as she comes at me, fists raised, and we are both laughing, and here in a moment where we almost, almost feel like friends, I wonder if we are, or exactly what we are? She is hitting me and I cower, running down the stairs as she follows, hair flying behind her, one hand wrapped around her side as she laughs, we are out, the stairs left behind and we are running, feet pounding, as I jog and watch her charge after me, steps awkward and eventually she gives up, collapsing against a wall, and breathing hard,

"Potter if you tell anyone about this I'll murder you in your sleep, agreed?"

I laugh softly, and stroll over, not at all winded; I rest my hand on the wall and smirk slow,

"Are you asking me if I want to be murdered in my sleep, do I have a say in how you kill me?"

She straightens herself up and shakes her head,

"Hell no, you bloody idiot, you don't get a say in anything…"

And we walk, a good three feet between us both, the great hall comes to life, and we watch everyone rush for dinner, eventually she speaks up, voice quiet,

"Potter? How was the funeral?"

I stop walking. We are silent, she waits, she does not rush my response, she is good at that, empathy, knowing what to say, how to react, how to make everything better, but I have nothing to say, and so we stand, it feels like years ago, they sky dark, the world blackened by the ill fate of a friend no longer… I didn't know him, but it took a big toll on my dad, so as we stand we consider, each other, what this means, if it'll be okay, it has to be right?

Time seems to go backwards, the funeral was a week ago, and because of it, and all the recent attacks since, Hogwarts has decided that fourth years nominated for prefects this year will start their duties after Christmas, till everything goes go back to normal, so the fifth years have double shifts and patrols, though I wish I had something that I had to do, to take my mind off of the thoughts that spun through my memory, past me, the past three weeks had been hard. And now it was reaching the end of November, the last week.

The memory comes back like a nightmare, the shadows cling to it, the thought, the movements, the rain. Yes, it was raining…

Rain. Cold and wet, slipping down my back, over my skin, into my hair. I remember the first time I felt the rain, not ordinary like the rain when the sky gets cloudy but the rain when the ministry officials put theirs wands in the air and tears slip from them over a grave, as a kind of salute, to end someone's days and to carry memories of the person onto the grave, a way of remembering, respecting. I remember I was 5 and Cornelius Fudge died, I remember how my father stood at the head of the ministry, robes flapping in the wind around him, wand going to his right eye, and then to the sky, letting go one memory and one tear, simply a custom and I watched all the others follow the movement, I watched in simple awe. I remember, as if looking through a looking glass, into a world I don't rightly know, that I don't understand…

But today, that day, the rain was cold and wet, and watching the ministry do it almost felt ironic, since the casket was empty, and the cameras of the press and media flashed around us, trying to get the best angle on the fake funeral. No, not fake, my father he did look defeated and perhaps I too felt some sort of grief.

Funerals remind me of weddings, everyone gets dressed up in their best suit, and greets each other, passing out condolences and grieving as one rather than saying congratulations. Everyone goes and sits, while the casket is brought slowly up the long ail, laid with rose petals, and other flowers and so the parade and façade begins, I remember how we watched the casket slowly get lowered into the grave, and the headstone put in place, and then finally a priest came before us and said a long sermon and then, the speeches, one by one my family members stood and went to say something special, half of it they don't mean, but the other half they mean the world of.

Here, standing in the grass, with the mud wet from the sky's gloom, here did I stand with my hands deep in my pockets, eyes lost in thought, lost, so very lost. And here, then, in a moment where we said goodbye to someone who was a thief and a liar, that we congratulation and celebrate his life, as he too did nothing in a war, losing horcruxes, hiding behind his own mask, as we all are as we all look on.

The funeral, the two weeks it had taken to lead up to it, was exhausting, all of it, but the family, all of us being together, holding onto each other, the memory is sweet and soar, and I wince as I remember it, all of it.

We were lost in a moment, the salute was had been around an hour ago, and since then, everyone had gathered towards that grave, getting prepared to sit, a sea of black, lost in the sea of opportunity. And here ,then, as if here and then are one, as if I have travelled back in time, into that sea, unlike the sea before me, blue and beautiful locked in her eyes, then with the red and white rose petals floating to the ground, carried softly by the wind as they did float on and on until they hit and wilt on the grass, getting stained by the mud, here I think of another sea, captured in green eyes, that I lost myself in two weeks earlier, and I am loosing myself in now. Her eyes. A sigh.

"James Potter?"

I glanced up, and find the person who connects with the voice, press. There camera is big, rolling, they want pictures, and a young lady, her clothes were tight fitting, her hair curled, her face caked in makeup, with a little note book and quill, ready to take notes on what I say, what I have to say, I remember the way she tilted her head, interested, the way she looked both intelligent and empty.

"Yes, that's me,"

They nod, the quill scribbles, the cameras flash, I don't blink, I don't smile, if I did the news reports would say I was drunk, or found the death funny, no, no smile, no laughter in my eyes, the bags beneath them from lack of sleep make my face less noticeable, and yet still their eyes and cameras find me. They did find me, as if in the black hurricane I stuck out like a sore thumb,

"What is your opinion on the attack of Mundungus Fletcher?"

Their voices are rushed, they want an answer, and with the single camera, comes more, crowding around, and I did not feel suffocated, but prepared, and send a tentative smile, as if trying to pull myself together,

"It wasn't an attack it was a murder…"

I stated it as a fact, and I watch the quills write, half of them won't say the truth, the other half will ask questions, they did ask questions, over and over as if they did not know when to stop, their voices had been rushed,

"Do you think it was intentional, did they leave a mark on the body?"

I shook my head softly,

"That information is disclosed, forgive me, I should be going to my seat…"

As I began to walk but they moved with me, a sea of black and yet they found me, my eyes held an empty hollow look, simply because I was exhausted, exhausted from the press, the way they found me in a crowd, the way they follow and judge my every move,

"James, Mr. Potter what is your opinion on The Forgotten Ones, do you believe they are an immediate threat to society, do you feel threatened Mr. Potter?"

I shook my head, again, steps quickening, but eyes never straying from the camera lens,

"They are only a threat if we choose to acknowledge their actions, I choose not to,"

They ran after me, feet hitting the grass, mud squeaking beneath each shoe, splattering onto their clothes, and so they followed,

"Does that mean you are ignoring them?"

I shook my head again, and again, as if it was a necessarily endless movement, and stop walking, turning to face them,

"I believe that they are a threat, and ignoring won't help, but a better idea is to revoke the law the D.A passed and allow a public vote on if it should be. We live in a democratic society, and yet only the D.A gets a vote, I say let's change that first…"

A stunned silence, they watched me with surprise, merlin, they looked at me as if I am not real.

"Mr. Potter does that mean that you are openly against your father's army? Are you not a part of his endeavours, did you not have a vote?"

I am walking again, it is as if I am back there, on the field, millions of graves stretching before me, like a landscape, the chairs all lined parallel in there rows, and in the front seats are my family, all there, and I watch them, and I watch my mother stand, turning as she sees me coming, and smiling big, she has never cared about the cameras, when I was younger I would sit on her lap and she would play with my hair murmuring in my ear about how they will hunt you look wolves, but they do not control you.

She walks forward arms extending, and just like that, I am home, as my mother's strong arms pull me close, she is no longer as tall as me, around Albus' height, but she still ruffles my hair and fixes my tie, she still is the mother she was when I was born, she will always be. The press puts her as a strong, courageous, uncontrollable fiery woman, but I always think of her as kindness, put in a person,

Her hug was warm, I can almost feel her arms around me, even now, her red hair dusted with grey is still dark and beautiful, drifting around her shoulders, her smile is the only thing that would keep me going, and my arms loop around her, pulling her close, I love the way she is so very warm, as if she can heat me up in minutes, and in her arms I am not responsible for anything, she is, and I take a deep breath, soaking it in, I copy the breath I took then and take it now, Rose watches me, patient,

"Mrs. Potter is your son eligible for having a vote in the D.A, do you agree with his opinion that the laws should be revoked?"

And so very smoothly she pulls away, and arches her brows, tilting her head to the side,

"My family and I have no comment, it was a tragic event, let us not overlook that."

And so we left them behind and we went to our seats. But before we reached the crowd she stopped me and she looked at me for a very long time and eventually she smiled soflty and said,

"Oh James, I wish I could have given you a better life than this one, you deserve a better life than this one… I'm sorry… _For everything…._ "

I remember, even now, how I had watched her slowly and how I had sighed slowly, and how I had reached up and ran a hand through my hair,

"Don't be, I'm okay mom, I really am, it's just tiring sometimes, that's all…"

I remember the way she reached out and fixed my tie, brushing off imaginary dust and how she shook her head back and forth,

"Your father and I, we were fools to bring you into this life like this, we shouldn't have…"

I smiled softly, and I had grabbed onto her two hands and our eyes met, and they were both sincere,

"Mom, it's not as bad as you think, I'm okay, I am, and though sometimes I'm scared out of my mind, I am safe when I am with you all, family…"

She returned my smile and leaned forward,

"Oh James, they don't see this you, sometimes I don't see this you…."

And she smiles wide and goes on her toes kissing my forehead slowly, and continued,

"You are the bravest of us all…."

And so she let go of my hands, and she walked away, and then and now, here, all the same, as time is ignored I whisper,

" _No. I'm the biggest coward of them all…"_

Rose laughs, softly, her voice is like the warmth of my mother's hug,

"No Potter, you aren't…"

Her voice brings me back to the present, and she clears her throat slowly, and looks at the ground, why does she always look at the ground? I glance at it, there is a candy wrapper and same mud, honestly its rather horrifying, and look away, arching an eyebrow, and ask her,

"What's so great about the ground?"

She glances at me, as if coming out of a dream,

"Hmmm? Oh, nothing, it's just, fascinating…"

I scoff and look back at it, I can see the smudge of footprints, the outline of different dirty shoes, and now that I am looking more closely I can see a piece of whip cream and a broken quill, an ink stain, and a bit of torn paper,

"It's disgusting, and unsanitary, where did you say you grew up again?"

She glances at me and rolls her eyes, sighing,

"it's fascinating, just look at it, think about how many people have walked over this little space without even putting any thought or effort, how many memories were created all right here, and we are creating another one…."

She pauses and grins slowly, continuing,

"Every day I walk down these stairs, over this same spot, can you help but wonder if one of the shoe marks is your footprint, or the torn piece of paper is from when you dropped your books, or the whip cream is from when Dom was attacking me with food,"

She licks her lips,

"It's incredible…"

I shake my head and look away, and then back at her, inquisitive,

She glances at me, long,

"What?"

I chuckle softly,

"I've never known someone who can value such ordinary beauty, of something that is not even beautiful…."

She laughs, and turns on her heels, wrapping her book bag around her front and raises an eyebrow,

"You never know what's beautiful until you really look at it Potter, and until you examine it, you are blind to it,"

I am shaking my head again,

"Why do you always spout such inspirational quotes, what romantic novel did you swallow?!"

She backs up slowly, hair swinging as she walks, biting her lip as she smiles,

"What a difficult question, which one should I choose?"

I roll my eyes and raise my hand, and wave, slowly, she simply sticks her tongue out and turns on her heels hopping down the stairs and leaving the world empty…. But I watch her go, and I can't help but smile, and then I laugh softly running a hand through my hair, and shaking my head…

Defence Against the Dark Arts class is buzzing with excitement today, and glancing around I notice the thousands of cages that are piled high around us, I attempt to look into them, but they are shrouded with a magic, so I am blinded,

Fred claps me on the back, and Sheila, thank god, is absent, Lysander looks at me up and down and glares,

"How do you still look fit after weeks of wallowing in depression!"

We all laugh, and head towards the back of the class, I tip my imaginary hat towards V and her friends, Rose glances up and then rolls her eyes and looks away, laughing at something Rox said.

We take our seats, and I swing my legs onto the desk putting my chair onto one leg, perched precariously, as if I am about to tip over and fall.

The doors open and the class goes quiet, he is formidable, always, that's right, Teddy Lupin, we are related, or you could say that, adopted older brother much?! Yeah something like that….

He winks at me as he walks past, calling out,

"Nice combat boots Jay, last time I checked that's not the dress code, and also pretty sure it's illegal to be that sexy, the poor women's hearts!"

Everyone giggles, and I chuckle along, unconsciously I feel her eyes find mine, dangerously sharp, and then the gaze is gone, but I felt it, the seas connect with the lion's roar, that sounded poetic right?

The class eventually calms down from his charismatic comment and he holds up his hand, to gain every ones attention.

"My father, both Harry and Remus taught this lesson early, because they saw the importance of pushing the limit, of never giving up, never sitting still, the importance of going above and beyond, and you see, that's exactly what we are doing today, my friends…"

I lean forward, the chair coming down with a crash, I get a couple annoyed glances, and a couple chuckles, but my eyes are focused on him,

"Today we are all going to learn what are patronus animal is, the first step to completing a very complicated and useful spell. To do this you are going to have to do a little divination, or opening up, I know we all hate divination,"

At that a loud, "HEY" came from Rose's seat, and my lips turn into a smile and I fix them back into a straight line, swallowing the rising laughter.

"We'll go alphabetically,"

I raise my hand, and his eyes find mine, he sighs and nods,

"Yes Jay?"

I wink at him,

"Can I go first? Special privilege of a brother and all?!"

He rolls his eyes and nods slowly,

"Yesss, hurry up, everyone else line up alphabetically,"

I grin and walk past everyone as they all stand up, but someone calls my name out and I stop, and turn just her voice and her words make me very aware she is talking to me.

"Idiot! Are you trying to prove me right, or are you just clueless?"

I grin, and run my tongue over my teeth and turn and face her, raising my eyebrows,

"I think we both know I'm clueless, cause that makes sense…"

She scoffs, and tilts her head, matching my facial expression,

"Obviously, oh and Idiot, the fact that you respond to 'idiot' tells me everything,"

I grin at her and wink,

"I would respond to anything you call me,"

She pretends to gag and I turn on my heels and keep walking.

The room is dim and there, in front of me is a pool, the liquid shines a swirl of colour, I cannot depict what exact colour it is though, and I watch it in awe. A mist rises from the water, and in it I can see someone dancing, as memories I have seen before and unknown people swirl in the waters. It reminds me of the sunset, and I can't breathe so I lean forward, and I am breathless from its beauty,

Teddy pats me on the back, and he watches me slowly,

"You'll see a vision of the future, with your spirit animal, and you'll find out what your patronus is. Don't worry, you'll be fine, it feels, kind of like flying and then jumping off of a high cliff, enjoy…"

I nod slowly, and walk towards the water, and I kneel my knees brushing the floor, and I extend my hand, slowly, and then I close my eyes and plunge my hand downwards, the water is cold and warm and it is like a breeze and a fire all at the same time, I breath it in, and my lips part, and suddenly I am falling, down and down and down I go.

The field is beautiful, there are daisies everywhere, and the sun is warm on my back, the shirt thin and there is something else, no someone else, a hand, small, delicate, grabs onto mine and is yanking me up, suddenly I'm standing and we are running and I am happy, I am so happy. She is laughing, her lips trace a smile that ends and begins worlds, she is dressed in blue, the dress soft, the fabric light, she is running, her bare feet stained with grass, she is laughing, it sounds like spring, as if it is life itself, I am stumbling after her, laughing with her, she is tripping, she is falling, I can't let her fall…. And there is something else, no two something else's, they are beautiful, their coats shine in the light and there is one as white as snow and one as black as death and they run beside us, their eyes are as alive as ours are. And suddenly there is a cliff and we are jumping, the air flies by us and I am pulling her close, holding her close. Boom.

We are in a big room, the walls are all mirrors, she dances around me, something runs beside her, biting at her heels, beautiful them both, and she is spinning me, she is yelling, " _James dance with me, don't you want to dance with me?"_ And then she is spinning away, and they, now two chase after her, and one, black as night stops, golden eyes meeting golden eyes, and cocks its head, as if to say, "Aren't you coming,"

And suddenly I am, my feet carrying me forward, before I can stop them, and we running through the glass, it's not glass, its water pouring around us, pooling at our feet, and they are shaking off their coats, spraying water everywhere, and I am grinning, we all are, the four of us, we are all meant to be, and I couldn't care less about the rest of the world. The water is clear, soft on my fingertips, like her skin, like it all.

She turns towards me, her clothes wet, her eyes alive, and in her arms is a little thing, fluffy and all white, like a snowball, except it has eyes, and they watch me with a love, those eyes blue as ice, and yet kinder than any ice I know, it has a pink tongue, it licks her face, she is laughing, it's as if she never stopped. I know her, somewhere in my mind; her eyes remind me of a forest, sea green, blues and greens in an endless battle of who will dominate.

She stops laughing at looks at me and shakes her head slowly,

" _James, staring is rude, no matter how beautiful she is…"_

 _My voice is cracked, soft,_

 _"Who is?"_

 _She giggles,_

 _"Silly, Aiyana, isn't she beautiful?"_

 _She is looking at it, in her arms,_

 _"Yes, what does it mean?"_

 _She blushes,_

 _"It means forever…. Because you'll last that long and so will she…."_

And then I am in a class, there is a cage, and I am opening it, and there, there he is, his eyes are kind, they are golden like mine, except they also have specks of blue, that shine transcendent, he is so small, he cannot stand, he cannot and yet he blinks those eyes out and my heart is already broken.

He wobbles to his feet and I reach out, a hand, to touch him and I already know his name, and so I whisper it, and a tear, soft as snow slips down my cheek, tracing over my lip, over my skin, and he reaches up, a small warm tongue licking away the tear, and his eyes they laugh at me, they understand me, and we are one, me and him, us both… He has a name, written in the stars, and the four of us, in the water, in my mind in whatever golden future I am seeing are one. So I whisper it, as if without it I am nothing, as if with it I am complete, a name, a future, and my hand begins to the leave the water, and we are flying, the air rushing by, and those golden eyes, with the small wet nose, and little legs that cannot stand yet, and the big eyes that search mine, the playful ears, and white paws, the fluffy fur, I know, and so I say in a language I hardly understand,

 _"Lupus…."_


	16. Train rides and first frost

Chapter 16: Train rides and first frost

Rose's POV

The memories, the future, the present, the past, all of it, all a tangled web of deceit and love, and hope. Mostly hope, and my web consists of the people I choose it to consist of. Lucy, her fiery spirit of youth that cannot be tamed, just like her hair. Dom, the way she walks down the stairs with no fear, head up, unafraid of the world ahead. V, my blood sister no matter who says that's not true, there from day one, who I wake up to every morning. Rox, talented, beautiful and like a demon with angle wings. Scorpius, a brother, who could be more or less, but is just right how he is, who says goodbyes just as he says hellos. Those people, listed, names, emotions correspond to each of them and yet somehow the list is getting longer, with names and new emotions that mostly end in W and P.

Days and Speeches, funerals, attacks and midnight rendezvous, this term, this semester, this time, these months have been a mess, a new adventure every time I open my eyes, and who is to blame but the rascal that crashed into my life on the train station, pretending to not know my name. And yet I cannot blame him, because he voted for me, and his eyes shined when I spoke, and he watched me speak and I don't know if I would have been able to go on that stage without the knowledge that he would be watching. Though perhaps I would have also been able to do it, if he wasn't there.

I remember the way I trembled, the stage was so big, and the eyes, their gazes were heavy, and for once I had gotten my wish, they were looking at me, but I did not like it as much as I thought I would have, honestly it was terrifying, and I was afraid, heart in my throat, eyes glued forward, afraid of the world turning on without me, and so it had turned and turned.

Weeks, seven days, each day with a new name, a new weather, a new temperature, a new face. No, no one recognised me when I walked by, and the eyes did not follow me when I went down the stairs, but I had made a difference, no matter how small, and the words had come, and so had the power, the power to manipulate the crowd, the world, and it was thrilling, the adrenaline still whispers in my veins, still whispers in my mind, haunting me, for that is what it's good at.

And now, after coming out of that tiny room, where the water was all colours, like the galaxies beyond our eyes reach, like the heavens I will never see, like my minds thoughts, a tangled web of thought, I am afraid. I am scared of what the waters showed me, not the animal but the fact that there was four, four of us, when there should have only been two.

The cage is large; I stare at it, my hands shaking. I am unable to admit to myself what I just saw when my hand slipped beneath the surface of those mystical waters. I am unable to breath. The class is empty, I sat and sat waiting for everyone to leave, my eyes closed, my breathing fast, in fact perhaps I wasn't even breathing.

I can hear it, soft whimpers from behind closed bars, and I am praying, why? You are lost, perhaps as lost as I am. Do you remember? Lily and James Potter, the myths and legends, they had patronus' a doe, and a stag, soul mates, or so that is what it means, nine times out of ten when you have the same animal in the opposite gender as someone else as your patronus. But I must have been dreaming, no, no one's hair is that black, that dark, and that full of shadows, no one's eyes are that golden. But it cannot be, so here I am praying.

To who? I have no idea, perhaps the universe, or myself, or the little creature behind the cage, waiting for me, perhaps I am simply catching my breath, waiting because waiting means you have more time to screw up.

My hands rise, slowly as if of their own accord, and go to the lock, and a flash like a memory, except a glimpse of the future hits me like a brick. And I shudder, as if about to fall, but I cannot stand and I am sitting while falling. My eyes dip close, and I can see him, I know its him, I'm not blind, his dark hair, they both have dark hair, him and him. One is small running at his heels, and the laughter in each of their golden orbs is reflected in mine, and I am lost, I am so very lost in my mind.

He is turning to me, he is smiling at me, and I am crying, running, at least I should be, but in the future, the memory of the pool, I am running after him, and she, white as snow, as if made from ice, runs beside me, her eyes sparkle as if she was born from a ray of the sun, she seems to grin too. Or perhaps I am imagining.

My eyes open, heavy and the silence is reminding me to breath and so I do, in and out, and out and in, and then I am blinking again, lashes brushing my cheek, and I see another flash, there is a water fall, and then it fades and we are in Paris, there is a café and on the table stands a wolf, large and black, with grey edging its nose and paws, and sitting on the ground ,tongue lolling to the side is one as white as a cloud in the mornings dew, and my mind is carried years ahead, and there arms, many of friends I do not yet know the faces off, and someone with black hair, I shudder, lost, so lost inside my head,

"Rose?"

I jump and my eyes open quickly and I glance at her, Rox is looking at me slowly, lips pursed and eyebrows arched, her uniform is rumpled and even though it is so late she still is happy, her eyes shining with a joy I can't place,

"What's up, you've been sitting here for hours…. Let's go to dinner…"

I let out a breath and roll my shoulder back slowly; but the movement doesn't help the fear, unconformable, and brewing deep within my stomach. What do I fear? I fear that me and and those golden eyes have a future I just caught a glimpse of, a future I don't want, a future I didn't choose. When I speak my voice is timid,

"What animal did you get?"

She smiles and laughs softly, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to me, giving the shrouded cage before me a long glance and then looking back at me, and finding my eyes. She goes to answer and then notices my hunched figure and I see a glimmer of worry and she smiles big and ridiculous, and rests her head on my shoulder,

"An owl, barn to be exact, kind of ironic, since I already have one, but they'll be friends!"

I swallow hard, and smile very slowly, I glance down at her, she looks exhausted, I bet the funeral took a toll on her family and her, the thought of the funeral reminds me of how Potter pretended it never happened, how my patients with him is wearing thin. I clear my throat so very quietly and then speak up,

"That's not that bad, what did V get?"

She readjusts herself on my shoulder and looks up at me, and then back down,

"A bunny, adorable, all fluffy, I thought I would die of cuteness overload…"

I giggle softly, and run a hand through her soft hair, leaning into her, I am less afraid now that she is here, less scared, as if she helped me grow some sort of a spine. When I speak again my voice is like the whisper of the wind on a frosty day, and stifled, unable to complete my sentence and my thought.

"Did…"

I clear my throat and look down at my knotted hands, the whites of my knuckles, the goose bumps lightly dusting my wrists,

"Did anyone else get a barn owl?"

She laughs and peeks at me, crouching down to look at me, her nose wrinkled,

"No silly, that only happens if there is some sort of connection with fate, right?"

I splutter and sit up straight, scratching my head and sniffing, looking at anything but her, the ceiling, the cage, the seat he was sitting, the chair that was perched precariously only hours before, I murmur,

 _"Fate?"_

She smiles at me and scrunches her eyebrows together, watching me as if I am some sort of difficult math problem,

"You're acting weird, what's up?"

I straighten my back and bite my lip slow, glancing at her chocolate eyes, and then at the cage, the ground, my hands, and back to her. What can I say? Words are dangerous, but I trust her with my life, she won't judge, but she will ask questions… Perhaps I should say nothing, but her eyes are already searching mine and she won't take no for an answer,

"I think… I think I got the same animal as…"

I clear my throat again, and sniff a couple times, taking one of my hands and rubbing my eyes slowly, and then I continue,

"As someone else…"

She looks at me questionably,

"Who?"

I shake my head and then my hands are moving and I unlock the cage, squeezing my eyes shut and unable to peek. I hear a soft gasp from Rox but my lips and eyes are as shut as they could be, and I wait there, heart beating out of my chest, and then I feel it, a soft tongue caressing my cheek, and slowly I open my right eye and my heart melts.

She is beautiful, as white as snow, with the tips of her ears a black and the tip of her tail and paws black as well, her eyes are blue green, but mostly blue and they shine with such a pure innocence, my heart is broken before I have the chance to allow it to be. She is so very small, perhaps the size of one of my shoes, or a little bigger.

Her teeth are not yet grown and her eyes are big, long lashes and a soft grey, silver surrounding them like eyeliner, her whiskers are black and her ears droop as she cocks her head to the side, and she is beautiful, incredible and…

"FLUFFY!"

I am startled by Roxy's voice and glance at her, she looks like a little kid on Christmas day, and I can't help but chuckle covering my face with my hands… I admire her, in silence as Rox grumbles about how lucky I am. My fears are confirmed, she is a wolf, or a pup of one, at least. And my hands are shaking, or perhaps that is my heart, and I can see it, us four, her and I, Potter and him, running through the field, the field full of daises and endless sunlight. And I blink and it is gone but the little creature is not, she is very much here, she cannot stand, but she tries to, wobbling on her feet before collapsing into a heap of limbs and fur, and I can't help the warmth spreading from my heart through my veins, through me like a wild fire, it is impossible to not love something that looks at you with those big eyes, pleading for love, pleading for attention.

"What are you gonna name her?"

And with my face buried in my hands I think, hard, and his voice like lighting, like the calm before a storm, like the eye of a hurricane pounds through my skull, and I am taken back to a conversation at midnight, hiding in the shadows on our tower, hiding in the darkness of a life that we regret, of a moment that we regret. And that voice like the thunder of a thousand cries echoes in my mind, finding me. And a memory of a past and present, and all come together,

 _"When I can't sleep at night I think about how one day I'll make a big enough dent to last forever"_

 _And I can hear him, his voice like the sea, the sky, the heavens and the hell, all one, as if they collided and created a monster that is a man, boy, that's what I meant, a boy._

I whisper soft, the sound like a mouse before stepping into a trap, one word, but it means so much, because it's all a lie, a lie that depends on that word.

"Forever…."

She tilts her head and leans forward slightly, her hair tickling my cheek, her eyes finding mine slowly, and she murmurs soft into the hollow light of the empty classroom,

 _"Who?"_

I lick my lips and find her eyes, she is beautiful, Rox, her hair dark and long, her skin like caramel she reminds me of Christmas, then again Christmas is coming, Roxy's favourite, and I blink slow, and smile wider, and I think and deep, beyond my mind and heart, beneath my skin and bone, deep within me, or perhaps just on the surface of a memory of the future, and so I whisper, soft into the storm, soft into the darkness,

"Aiyana,"

She ponders for a moment, and then whispers it, as if we have a secret to tell, to keep and to learn,

"Aiyana,"

And she nods, and ducks her head, looking at the little fur ball that has curled up, head rested on its front paws, and soft eyes wandering shut in a moment of peace and serenity. When Rox speaks up again her voice is still soft, like a ghost,

"I like it, what's it mean, with you there is always some sort of meaning,"

I laugh quietly, and reach out, my hand just millimetres from her little ear, and then draw back, licking my lips,

"It means forever, because that's how long she'll last…"

Rox grins and pulls me close, her hands getting lost in my hair, her hug is familiar or perhaps she is, after weeks of them gone, and the little corner in the library becoming more and more empty it seems fulfilling to be here, in her arms, as if the funeral and everything never happened, and it means the world to me, it truly does. Her voice is cracked, soft but getting louder, gaining strength in every moment,

"Ohh Rose I missed you, the funeral, all of it was boring and long and emotionally exhausting and I just…"

A sigh and then a sly grin, it lights up her eyes, the world, everything, and her eyes smile more than her lips, her eyes smile as if she was born to smile, as if they were born to smile. And when she speaks she is taunting and laughing at me, even though what she says is an attempt at humour, a humour I don't quite get.

"But you must have gotten lots of time with Scorpius, that's good right?"

I bite my lip and shake my head, slow,

"Not really, he was pretty preoccupied; in fact it was just generally quiet without you nut heads,"

She grins full on and hits me over the head,

"So that's why you keep us around you traitor!"

I laugh and then turn my attention to the fluffy four legged animal, and I watch the little eyes watch me back, with such an excitement, that I smile softly, bending forward and close my eyes rubbing my nose against the tiny creatures. She is warm, and I feel soft sparks ignite, and run through me,

Rox clears her throat and murmurs softly,

"Was Scorp concerned about a certain Al"

I nod slowly, and bring my knees up to my chest wrapping my arms around them, and perching my head on my right knee, my head lolling to the left,

"Yeah, even though he denies it every time,"

Rox watches me closely and then she tucks her hair behind her ear, and she glances at the little wolf before us and then back at me, her voice interested and timid when she speaks,

"Thorne? Al got together with Greengrass, and apparently they are pretty close…. I thought you should know, she went to the funeral and everything."

I swallow softly, and close my eyes, rubbing my temples slowly, and then I glance at her, long,

"Rox, I don't care what Albus Potter does, in fact, the more he dates the farther he'll get from Scorp, but, Scorpius, he's afraid of leaving his comfort zone, and Albus was the only one that convinced to, almost…."

Rox sniffs, and scoots closer, her head resting on my left knee,

"You know you're ridiculous Rose BlackThorne"

I blink slowly, and turn to her, pouting,

"I am not ridiculous, how is that ridiculous?"

She grins, and nudges me with her shoulder,

"You always try to understand a situation and judge a person without any knowledge of them, Albus is the sweetest person I know, he is kind, and good, and his humour may be a little dark but his heart is pure silver,"

I wince at her words and hide my face in my arms, that come up and wrap around me,

"I didn't mean to judge so harshly… I just, merlin, I just wanted him to be happy, you know, and I can't make him happy like Al does, I can't…."

She rubs my back in slow circles, and smiles at me, her eyes finding mine,

"There you go again being ridiculous,"

I push her over, and smile softly, and then I sigh and lean into her,

"You excited for Christmas Weasley?"

She rolls her eyes and shoves me back, but pulls me close after,

"Hell yeah, god, it couldn't come any slower,"

I giggle and turn to face her,

"You're going to the Potters? Right?"

She glances at me long, and bites her lip, eyes dancing,

"Yesss, why, jealous?"

I roll my eyes, mocking her, and tossing my hair,

"Me, jealous?! Hell no I pity you, you and all those who have to go and survive that blasted family,"

She grabs a hand full of my hair and gives it a yank,

"You watch your mouth Thorne, I'm related to that blasted family,"

I nudge her with my shoulder,

"And you're proud of that? "

She laughs full out, and then claps a hand over her lips, her shoulders shaking as she laughs,

"Oh Rose, your pride will be the death of you,"

I scoff and splutter,

"My pride, what pride, what is this pride you speak of?"

She rolls her eyes and runs a hand over her uniform straightening out the endless crinkles,

"No, but in all seriousness Rose, Christmas with the Potters is the best time of the year, they are all so in love with each other, the Potters, and we have no snow ball fights, and run around like crazy, everything is perfect with them, you'd love it,"

She gets a dazed look on her face as she talks as if she cannot remember what is going on, as if she is lost, and then she clears her throat and smiles up at the ceiling, I bump her elbow, and my voice is humorous as I speak,

"Is it seriously the best time of the year, just because I'm not there, ouch Weasley that hurt my very soul,"

She looks at me and smiles, chuckling softly,

"My world does not turn around you BlackThorne,"

I nod solemnly and speak with a falsely serious tone,

"Of course, but my world does turn around you Weasley,"

She smiles big and we are silent for a moment, as if the silence is the preferred still, and when she does speak I cower from her words, the fear forgotten so quickly is back, striking my heart like a bullet, like a fire. Her voice is soft, like the music before the orchestra begins, like the sad lullaby before the moon slips from the sky, her voice is a reminder, like the ocean the words roll, and so she speaks,

"Rose… I heard James has a wolf too…. Is that the someone you were talking about?"

I feel my body shudder and my eyes snap open, and I look at the furry little thing and then at Rox, I look at her, and it, and if I could at myself. She continues, her voice some sort of memory as if I am not physically here to hear it,

"What does it mean, if you have the same animal?"

She bites her lip and sighs, glancing away from me and then back at me, then anywhere but me,

"Rose, you're the smartest person I know, you've been looking forward to learning how to do this for months, and you have researched for months, so…"

I look at her and then away. I go to stand and she grabs a hold of my hand, pulling me back down, so that I am sitting, she seems to never have stopped talking, though there is a pause between each sentence, and her words keep flowing,

"Rose, do you…"

She clears her throat and glances away from me and then back at me,

"Do you like James?"

I don't wince I just stand, and I stare at her and I really, and truly think, thoughts flying past my mind, and then I let go of a breath, and a memory and he is there, somewhere in my mind, long glances and sharp golden eyes, and I am afraid of what it means, I am afraid of how my pulse weakens at his voice, how my heart finds a pattern quicker than my breath. And he is there, his hands that wrapped around me as the fairies danced, the way he watched me and Scorpius talk in the great hall at breakfast, memories, too many of them for someone I hardly know. And that's just it, I don't know him, a mystery, a phantom, I know not who he is, or what he has seen and done and for some reason that bothers me, and there beneath the beat of my heart is a fear, like a lions roar, because I cannot face a forever of guilt, I cannot face a nowhere gone by, I cannot face him, not after admitting.

She repeats the question her voice so very soft, as if the tide of the ocean on a cool summer day, as if the daring of a shark before it strikes. I swallow, hard, and hide behind my face, my skin, my bones, the flesh and cells that multiply.

"I think…."

A pause, and the moment multiplies,

"I think I would need to know what kind of a man he is before I said something like that,"

I pause again, and she watches me, and I look away and then back at her, and my voice is dry, as if on the brick of falling, and she is not laughing and she sees the fear in my eyes, the heartbeat in my eyes, I clear my throat and continue,

"But…"

She nods slowly, taking a step closer,

"Yes Rose, what?"

I can feel my eyes become heavy and my heart as well, and when I speak my voice is softer than the wind, soft with regret, soft with emotions I have admitted and I am scared, I am shaking because I am scared, I am scared of losing these people that I chose to be in my web of life, that all tie in to my complicated story, that all play a role in who I am, and so I cannot breath, I am undone. And when I do speak, the voice is no softer that the feather of a new born dove, no quieter than the whispered footsteps at midnight, and the words match the tone, a grieving kind of never ending fear. And so I say,

"But I love someone else who does not love me…."

She reaches out and takes my hand, and she turns me slowly, towards her and her eyes are soft, and she sighs and she shakes her head and when she speaks, eventually her voice is like a drop of rain, like the first frost,

"He does love you, oh Rose, he does just not like that…."

I nod slowly and smile softly and turn away, tilting my head back, and then the door is opened with a boom and they are running, Dom is screeching and V is grinning ear to ear and Lucy's arms are extended, and they grab me, spinning me around, hearts in their throats, and when they speak they are breathless, and when they talk they are excited, their hearts are in arms reach, and their arms are around me in seconds, and we are all spinning as they shout uncoherent words, and yell syllables that sounds like gibberish, I am breathless when I speak pulling away, and looking them up and down,

"What, merlin what happened?"

And they are grinning and V steps forward a pride in her eyes, a pride that seems to multiply, that seems to double, and she reaches forward and slowly picks up both of my hands and her fingers intertwine with mine, lacing a memory into my heart, and slowly she smiles, and it is liking the rising of a sun, the calluses on her hands are familiar, and she is family, they all are,

"Rose you did it…."

I blink slowly and I am trembling and my eyes are shining and hers are as well, all of ours are, and Roxy steps forward arms looping around me from behind and Lucy stands to my right, giggling, and Dom, with her cheeks bright red with joy, and they all watch me with pride, they are proud I exist, they are proud, because they are good, and they are kind, and they are my family, my friends, and for just a moment, as we all stand we appreciate, and V opens and closes her mouth so many times she looks like a fish, and suddenly a soft tear slips down her cheek and she lets go of my left hand and wipes it off, murmuring and then takes my hand again, smiling big, her hands squeezing mine, I can hear her pulse booming with adrenaline, and I step forward only slightly and whisper,

"What is it?"

I murmur it again and again, as if it is a whisper and a thought, a moment and a forever. And then she speaks, her voice rising in power, in pride, in a happiness as pure as a bliss from the heavens, and the tears of joy come with her words and suddenly the world is turned upside down, why, because I made a difference worth remembering, a difference I can never let go of,

"You did it Rose, the vote was passed, Hogwarts will take on another 5% of muggles next year, they are even considering ten,"

She is quiet for a moment and I watch the tears run down her face and my heart is broken, and yet she is mending it as it breaks, her words are everything, or perhaps the beginning of an everything I can never let go of, perhaps they are the movement of a nation, rising onto their feet, perhaps they are a forever within themselves, perhaps, maybe, just maybe I made a difference, and so she continues, her sobs soft, her eyes rimmed with red, but shining with bliss,

"When you got on that stage I told you keep your chin up no matter what BlackThorne, and you did, and you ruled over everything, and you were incredible, and I am so, oh Rose I am so proud to be your friend, so proud to know who you are, to be a part of your story, and don't, oh Rose, don't ever give up, you hear me, you can't give up, because you can make it…"

She sobs softly, and pulls me close arms slipping around me, head falling onto my shoulder and our hands stay intertwined, and she whispers into my ear, her voice as soft as the first snow,

"Because you can make it, you can make it to the top…"

And there was the beginning of my forever, not on that stage, but her words, that chained me to a destiny far greater than I could ever understand, words that secured a future and path that was paved in success, in a never ending cycle of rising above, of going beyond, and we are one, all five of us and I whisper back as if afraid to speak any louder, because this moment is too precious to break, this moment is too important to laugh at, and we are not fourteen, not here, we are older, wise beyond our years, after glimpsing our futures in the waters, and with the little creature watching on with wide eyes, as if seeing a future through V's words, as if waiting for me to wake up.

I have no idea what destiny is, there is no fate I understand, I do not believe in forever, my imagination is just a way to cage joy in a box, I had no goals bigger than graduating with straight O's, I had no decision farther than those good grades, I had not looked beyond the cube my life was locked in, I had not tried to break free of the daily routine that I pay for. Perhaps, perhaps V's words struck a flame that still burns, and burns and burns. Perhaps V's words were a candle that melted with the years until it came to the bomb, or perhaps it had nothing to do with the words, but the simple success, the surprise that I had made a change, not very big, but a dent, a beginning. That stage had fed me adrenaline in feasts, and my words were like beasts hunting the cowards, I had been empowered and unstoppable simply by standing up, simply by speaking.

We think we cannot change the world because we are too little, but someone does, some people take the step, the opportunity before them and go far, perhaps I was afraid of failure of a future, of a never ending cycle of foster homes and scars. Or maybe seeing my future in those waters, a future that looked too good to be true, with someone I hardly knew scared me.

And so I shriek and we are all one, hands wrapped around each other and I feel it, emotions one after the other hitting me like bullets, and I can hardly breath so I am not breathing I am making mistakes rather than breathing….

Weeks, days, hours, minutes, all one thing flying by on silver wings made of gold, regret and beauty. Perhaps with each second time seemed endless. The hallways were a minefield, everywhere I went golden eyes found me, and my steps would trace backwards, in class his voice haunted mine, and so I covered my ears, in the great hall his tricks and pranks followed me so I ate upstairs. Why? Because as strong as I would like myself to be, I am not strong enough to face James Potter, I am not strong enough to look at him, and see him and know that there is a high probability that fate has put us hand in hand. And I cannot face that.

Days, classes where I sat and answered questions, words, simple things he would say, as if waiting for my outraged response, but I would take a deep breath, and keep going, seconds, tracing hours and minutes that seemed to be captured in the way he watched me. He didn't give up, his eyes would find mine, when my will power was straying and a soft chaste wink would bring me back to the present, but I could not forget, the meadow, the daisies, that future I could prevent, right? Libraries, days spent reading and finding excuses for the coincidence, finding reasons for the possibilities finding chances of it being a mistake.

But with the weeks and the constant avoiding came the first snow, the soft fall of the white beauty making the tips of my ears and nose red, and with the snow charged the Christmas spirit, and the halls and corridors filled with a joy, as people sand carols, and ate chocolate by the fist full, grinning at the world they see before them. And the days to Christmas break ran at us like a freight train, and we all watched it come, some dreading, others with their hearts in their throats, adrenaline in their veins, living foe the days to come.

And though only last week was November now is December, and I stand around four feet away from him. His hair is silver, his eyes blue and they are smiling at me, and I smile back. He looks different in muggle attire, without the green robes and constant silver crest. He hasn't grown, but I worry that he will over the Christmas break, he is happy, very, so that his eyes are smiling, and so is his heart. To go home, to show his dad the good work he has done, in an attempt to gain respect and pride. The past weeks he and I have met rarely, V and the girls have swept me off my feet, talking about how I should start campaigning for minister today and get a head start on it. And the Quidditch season is about to begin, as they all practice the many months coming excitement hums in the air, and the dusted white ground covered with frost and ice and snow and the cloudy grey sky with the sun peeking out all reminds me of the years before, and I am happy, hollow, but happy.

He holds out a hand, and grins,

"Rose BlackThorne, don't let Christmas sweep you off your feet? Promise!?"

I laugh, and slap his hand away and step forward and wrap my arms around him, breathing in his familiar sent, and I hold onto him, and slowly his hands wrap around me, and he smiles down at me, his hands are cold, and so is his skin, but he does not shiver, he glances at me, and grins crinkling his red nose up at me. And my voice is sing song as I reply,

"Don't miss me too much Scorp, you might just get grey hair!"

He rolls his eyes and watches me slowly, as if trying to find what I am thinking deep beneath my skin in my mind, but unable to.

"Are you going home?"

I shake my head, and close my eyes, leaning into him, his coldness is oddly familiar, and for some reason, though I don't mind it, I long for warmth, my voice is quiet,

"Home is here, Hogwarts, my dorm, that life, no, where I'm going is a lot more terrifying…"

He nods slow, and ruffles my hair causing me to shriek and push him away and then pull him close again, head resting under his chin, when he speaks his voice is like a piano piece and I listen to it, as if wanting to hear each note and tone, and memory, to memorise the moment and the words that trace his lips,

"You're scared, I get that, but they will only be your family if you except them as that, understand?"

I blink slow and lick my lips, quirking an eyebrow,

"You know it's annoying when you use my own wisdom on me… Don't!"

He grins, and backs up picking up his luggage, and I watch him, he grins again this time it reaches his eyes, and I continue, eyes wide, and hands on my hips,

"I mean it, that's plagiarism"

He nods and ducks down and leans close to me, so that we are eye level,

"Enjoy the train ride crazy, and try to make it back in one piece, promise?"

I roll my eyes and step back a few times, and then, there, I feel a gaze that has been heavy on my back for the past weeks, watching me, watching every move, the gaze of a dreamer, with golden eyes, and I am timid beneath it, he is watching us talk, the way I walked back, he is trying to understand, or perhaps he already does, or perhaps he is simply pretending. I can feel it heavy, like velvet, and soft like silk, but I ignore it, and I focus on the boy before me…

"I promise, and you too, don't get lost in Malfoy manner, I'll have to send a search party,"

He grins and tries to ruffle my hair again, but I slap his hand away, and blow him kisses as he walks away, turning back once, slowly, to wave, ducking his head as he gets on the train, I watch him leave and smile slow, biting the inside of my cheek and then a voice breaks my concentration and I jump,

"I think you've been avoiding me…"

I shriek and my hand flies up and covers my mouth as I wince, and slowly I turn and stare at the eldest Potter. He looks different something I can't quite place, and then again I am only peering at him out of the corner of my eye, as if hiding from him is the only possibility. I clear my throat and sniff, hands finding my jackets pockets as I duck my head,

"Avoiding is a strong word, more like casually approaching from a far,"

He looks stunning, his skin is not as golden as it was during the first couple months of school, but he's grown another good inch or so, his hair is longer but still not entirely in his eyes, today he has it slicked back, he wears casual attire, a white t shirt and some black jeans, and a heavy grey jacket over it, just lightly dusting the floor. He coughs and I look back at his face,

"You done inspecting me?"

I would have laughed or punched him but the movements are stopped by my eyes finding his face, there, on his left cheek is a bruise, dark purple, and swelling, it has yellow decorated around it, and blues and blacks beneath it, it makes his face hollow and more real, and a cut on his lip, with a few muggle stitches over it, I can see the dark red blood and torn skin that outlines it. On his right temple is a small jagged cut, no band aid to cover it, but open in the air, the blood slightly dried, and I can see it pooling at the side, slowly as if if he suddenly moved a droplet of the red liquid would slip down his cheek. He watches my eyes find the flaws, and a shudder runs through me, and I clear my throat looking down and back up. Had I really not been paying attention to have missed such an important event as James bloody Potter getting in a fist fight? And why hadn't he gone to the bloody infirmary, I try to ignore the bubbling concern that seems to sprout from within, and instead clear my throat again and step closer, only a little bit,

"What happened?"

He blinks slow, like a lazy cat, and tilts his head to the right, and raises both eyebrows, his voice is low when he speaks, as if telling me a secret, but jokey still, with no sincerity, as if the shield that I had begun to tear down is back up, and stronger and more fortified than before,

"Nada, I'm doing great,"

I scoff, and push him with my bag, causing him to mutter explicit under his breath and I go to walk away but his voice prevents me from leaving, every bloody time,

"Come now Black was that concern in those blue eyes of yours?"

I grind my teeth together and take four deep calming breaths, the exercise videos I used to watch in the orphanage used to tell us to breathe deeply when something is going badly, it never works, but it is worth trying. I don't turn around and tilt my head back; looking at the grey above us, as if just before the sky opened up and all hell broke loose. I can hear the pent up emotions in my voice when I speak, and he can hear them too, _I know he can,_

"My eyes are green Potter, not blue; get your facts straight,"

I can hear his smirk, and the stupid attitude he gets and I am already walking away, but I know he will jog up, yes and so he does putting out a hand to stop me,

"Come on, let's play fair, you insult me, I insult you, you can't insult yourself,"

I scoff and stop walking and turn to face him,

"And how is having green eyes insulting me?"

He grins, and leans closer, I step back, and he rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair, I can see the soft traces of a fist in the bruise, and I study it, a sort of worry coming over me, and I lean to the right a little as I look at it, and then back at him, into those eyes, they are like two burning fires and they play with me, toying with my emotions, _and I hate that,_

He watches me watch him, and leans to his left so that we are aligned, his smirk staying planted,

"Most of the Potters have green eyes, and you don't want to have anything to do with us, right?"

It is my turn to roll my eyes and I turn around waving over my shoulder at him,

"Enjoy Christmas break Potter, try hard to throw yourself off the nearest building,"

He chuckles and calls after me, his voice like a viper in a nest of dreams,

"Come now Rose deny it all you want but you're worried that my precious face got damaged,"

I swallow hard and sigh, running a hand over my eyes, and rubbing my right temple,

"Potter, what about your face is precious again?"

He grins, I can almost hear the way his lips slip over those bloody white teeth, and after avoiding him for so long, I was almost worried it wouldn't come naturally us talking, and yet here we are and the bickering is perfect, not that me and Potter make something perfect, just that it came naturally without hesitation, I was worried I would feel too attached, after bloody fate put us in the same boat. His voice is sweet and sower, like one of those cheap candies you get at the convenience store late at night, since when did Potter remind me of convenience stores?

"Ahh Black, I'm not blind, you seem to have taken quite a fancy to ignoring me, but you can't escape fate hun,"

I freeze, his words hit me like bullets, and there is a knowing edge beneath them, as if he knows exactly why I haven't seen him, even skipping our divination project and doing my part on my own. He knows, there is no way he would say that without knowing, and yet, why now? He had weeks, weeks of not being around, and then before that, days of grieving in funerals, why now decide to destroy my life? Don't I have a say. He knows he's hit a nerve, I can hear the gears in his mind turning, he is judging my reaction, weighing the possibilities, wondering if I've realised. Suddenly I can't breath and so I clear my throat and whisper, my voice soft with fear,

"I don't believe in fate, just coincidence,"

He steps closer, not onto the train, still on that snowy platform and looks up at me; I can feel his eyes digging into the back of my skull,

"Maybe it's a coincidence that fate put us together, or perhaps you are just afraid of the truth Thorne,"

I wince and walk forwards stopping and responding to his comment,

"Life is full of unfortunate coincidences,"

He chuckles, dark and deep as if he is fear itself, and yet he is no coward. And I go to walk away, this time for real, but his voice as always prevents me to,

"Oh and Rose, the invitation still stands, if you need a place to stay, we've got lots of room,"

I pause and growl under my breath and toss my hair and he calls after me, again, it seems like that's all he ever does, over and over, why can't he just let me go?

"And if you need some convincing, Sheila won't be there,"

For a moment I think, for a second I thought that there was sincerity in that voice, something real behind those words, but I must be wrong, because there is none, there never is with him.

I get on the train and I go to the compartment and we, my friends, all 5 of us, treasure the last couple moments of forever, there is that word again, everywhere I look is that bloody word. And I lie down, my hair sticking in all directions after Lucy tried a new braiding spell, and V reads us some cheesy articles from "Every Witch Weekly"

And suddenly I listen to the article she is reading, because there is an explanation, and I feel a sense of dread as she reads it, a fear of what she is saying, I fear what she means, and so the article did read,

"James Sirius Potter, making history in Hogwarts with having a violent fist fight with a seventh year. Though we are unaware as to what it was over, the seventh year Hufflepuff approached James during Quidditch practice and asked for the field. Apparently James got very upset and was the first to hit the Hufflepuff whose name goes by Thomas MacDougal a pureblood. The conversation began with asking for the field but escalated into a conversation about how the Potters were fake royalty controlling the corrupt when they themselves were definition of corrupt. Though we have no photos of the fight, both boys were sent to the hospital wing and both boys came out with bruised faces and Thomas with a broken arm both will have to recover from their injuries the muggle way until they learn their lesson and repent."

V pauses in her reading and sighs, murmuring under her breath before continuing,

"The oldest of the Potter sons, is rebelling again, as he recently was quoted on being against his father's ideals on the D.A votes. We can only wonder what was the cause of his anger against said Thomas, and why he would have strike out so violently. We must also look to his parents, after his father being attacked and the recent funeral we can only question what is going on behind the scenes at Potter Manner this Christmas Break,"

I stare at V, and Lucy breaks in before V can finish the article,

"We'll be having fun, ughh, the bloody reporters; they are eating poor James alive,"

Rox nods in agreement, and sighs, burying her face in her hands,

"Have you talked to Jay about it V? What does he have to say?"

V goes to answer but sighs and rubs her temples, and Lucy cuts in, answering for her,

"Yeah, I saw the whole bloody thing, both of them are such idiots, but Thomas stepped over the line,"

I pull myself upright and look out the window, the snow falls outside, and the window is frosty and I ponder, listening distantly to their conversation,

Roxy's voice cuts in,

"Yeah but Jamie shouldn't have punched the guy, plus it wasn't a fair fight, he is twice the size of MacDougal,"

V groans and rests down the magazine, scrunching up her eyes and rubbing her face, giving me a long glance before continuing,

"What did Thomas say that ticked James off that much?"

Lucy glanced at V, and then at me, and cleared her throat softly, before speaking, and when she does what she says makes me wince, no wonder James had his shield back up, and how rude I had been, to be so inconsiderate. And then she says, her voice like the wind, from far away yet still hitting me hard over the head,

"He called Al gay…."

I lick my lips and slowly stand, everyone looks at me, their eyes inquisitive,

"Where are you going?"

I look at the floor, and then glance at them and lick my lips and smile,

"Umm, bathroom, the train ride is making me nauseas"

I am gone, out of the constricting compartment, and slowly down the corridor, to the end, the little balcony, and there standing, with head bent down is a certain Potter, I study him, I can see the outline of Thomas' fist on his cheek, and his long lashes brushing the bruise with his eyes closed, he is breathing deeply, in a moment of his own, and I consider leaving, as if walking away but prevent my feet from moving and I stop and roll my eyes, and bump his shoulder, the brief contact surprising him, my words are harsh, but there is a small amount of concern beneath them,

"Move Potter,"

He glances at me long, and smirks,

"Are you following me around Black, or do you just enjoy spontaneously bumping into me?"

I sigh, and roll my shoulders back, eyes dipping shut,

"Neither, I just needed some fresh air…"

He nods slowly, and then chuckles softly, like the wind, and he reaches out a hand and I watch the thick snow, white, connect to his bare skin, he lost the jacket and stands in just a thin t shirt, I glance down at myself, the two jackets I wear and sigh, for what seems like the million time, and take off the top one, black and step forward wrapping my arms around him as I pull it over his shoulders, he stops and looks genuinely surprised looking down at me, tilting his head to the side. We are close, hands wrapped around each other, I look up and he looks down, he is warm, the warmth I have been craving, and the scars on his face that will fade with time make him so very real, as if I could reach out and touch him, hold him, I swallow and glance down.

When he speaks his voice is surprised and hollow and I can feel the crack in his wall of fire forming,

"What are you doing BlackThorne?"

I look at the floor boards, the way they meet and clear my throat softly,

"Keeping you warm, after all if you freeze to death then I'll never get to kill you myself,"

He laughs softly, like the chime of bells, and he reaches out and ruffles my hair, as if he was an older brother of mine, or perhaps, do I dare? A friend of mine,

"Oh Rose, I can never tell if you mean to be this adorable or it just happens naturally,"

I scoff and push his hands away, backing up and turning to look out. The snow dashes across the tracks and fills the air with a sort of buzz of endless winter life, and I can't help but smile, and I tilt my head back, eyes closing and arms extending so that the little bits of snow rush past my fingertips, and he steps up so that he is behind me and leans down, whispering in my ear,

"I thought you're middle name was curiosity and yet you haven't asked what happened to my beautiful face,"

I groan and with eyes still closed, I answer the king of idiocy,

"I couldn't care less about your beautiful face,"

He laughs and leans closer, I can feel the hot breath of his words on my neck and ear, and grind my teeth together to stop myself from shivering, his voice is taunting, playing with me just for fun,

"So you admit it's beautiful, I always knew you liked me Black, but to be so forward, it's very unlike you…"

I roll my eyes as I open them and push by him, but he catches onto my wrist, and without turning me, keeps saying,

"Don't die over Christmas break, because then who would I have to tease?"

I can't move, and I also can't help the small smile that slips onto my lips as I tare my wrist from his grip and keep walking, and then I stop and look at him, slowly, the bruises make him look like a fallen angel, or perhaps some reality that isn't real, not yet,

"Oh James, whatever shall we do with you, now you're getting in fist fights, and crashing funerals?"

He bites the inside of his cheek and smiles slow, tantalizing,

"I had to defend my honour,"

I splutter and roll my eyes,

"Honour, what do you know about honour James?"

He is quiet, and for a moment I don't think he'll respond but then he does, with a voice like ice, and snow, and everything, and I listen to it, the rise and fall of each syllable, and I am his, lost in this moment,

"He attacked Albus, I can't let that go, I don't give a damn if he yells at me, but not Al, he has no right,"

I watch him and then I smile slowly, and there is a sort of pride in my eyes, that I cannot seem to hide, and he recognises it, I know he does,

"Rose, is that pride in your eyes or hatred, I can't tell,"

I swallow and shake my head, smiling softly,

"Enjoy Christmas Potter…"

And I am gone….


	17. Death Walking on two feet

Chapter 17: Death Walking on two feet

Rose POV

Hands. Their arms warm and sweet, their breath on my neck, their eyes smiling along with their lips, they are sad, there is the undercurrent of grief, but over that a pride, and excitement that cannot be quenched. V's voice breaks the silence,

"Have a good break Rose, and ya know, if those idiotic new parents of yours make a nasty appearance, cut them into tiny little vegetables for me,"

I nod, smiling big, as brave as I can, Rox whispers from behind me,

"And don't get too excited that you won't be seeing us, we should still go Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley all together,"

I nod again and ruffle her hair; Lucy puts in her two sense,

"Yeah Thorne we should meet up and gallivant all together,"

I nod over and over, my head beginning to hurt, and Dom is the last one to break in.

"Live life well Rose, and we'll see you in no time,"

The train station is filled with the bustle of life, and I can feel a freedom slipping through my fingertips and forgotten as the red paint is left behind and muggle London stretches outwards in front of me, and I can feel behind me, as I go to cross over into the other world, those golden eyes, the tilt of his head, the way they beckon me. And I slowly turn back, and watch him, our eyes connecting, his face looks defined with the scars and scratches, as if it humanizes him, and he tilts his head to the side, hair falling into his eyes. And he arches a brow, as if daring me to accept his existence, and I shake my head, back and forth, as if telling him from across the sound and noise that I couldn't care less.

And I am out, out of the beautiful bubble of life that seems to be forgotten with the golden eyes, and with him forgotten I can breathe again, as if the world is now a blur and there is no need to focus, to step back, to see.

The train whistles by, and the robes are changed to coats, the shine of the gold to a dull grey, and I swallow hard, and I glance behind, and I watch them, the Potters leave the platform together, Harry wrapping his arm around Albus, and Ginny ruffling everyone's hair, I watch little Lily jump onto James' back, her little legs wrapped around his waist, perching her head on his shoulder, and grinning like crazy. I smile slowly, softly, and then I turn and walk into a nightmare, as they turn and walk into a dream.

And now how can I consider his offer, to a paradise, to a palace of perfection and I crave it, I crave it all. That life where he lives so very unforgettably, where they all depend on each other for happiness, and I watch V and Dom run after them, Fred grabbing at their ponytails, and Roxanne giggling at something Rose Weasley said, Lucy piggy backs on Archer Longbottom, and I lower my gaze, turning and going as far as I can from the perfection of the seen.

The subway is bumpy; I can feel each turn of the wheels, as it speeds below London, as the world flashes by outside of its windows, darkness clogging the shadows, and a world blurred with a memory unknown.

I am getting off, hands slipping over the metal of the opening door, and I am out, my feet making soft sounds of a putter patter on the ground, and I stop, glancing back, the sun has set, and dusk has descended. The address is unknown to me, and so are the walkways and the streets of beautiful fresh brick and glass walls, with big windows and shining Christmas lights.

Soft snow flies through the air, whispering in the wind, and I tilt my head back, feeling each heavy flake murmur onto my skin, melting in an instant. My eyes dip closed, and my feet move. Up the steps, and out of the ground, as if rising, and summarising, and I am out.

I stare at the buildings that rise, fences made of clean, new steel, and money shines through the candles lit in each window. You are asking where I am going. You wonder, if not the Potters and not the orphanage, where? Have you forgotten the family that seemed to have cracked the plan in my life, the questions bombarded towards me, the silent car the drove away without a wave back? For I have not forgotten, I remember.

The address clutched in my fingers, my knuckles white. The writing is soft and angular all at the same time, and I follow it, the houses all look the same, four windows in the front, two stories, three steps leading to a brown door, with the same silver knocker. It almost disgusts me, the perfection of a world I do not understand, the lined up houses seem to be made for dolls, that repeat the same steps throughout their days, and my worn down clothes and tired eyes and scuffled shoes do not match the cleaned and pristine cobblestones, but each house is lit, the lights shining with the Christmas spirit as I walk by them.

I stop, the dusk fading into darkness I fear, and the shadows just beyond the lined buildings haunt me, and the fear, like a trickle of destiny slips down my spine, and I am terrified.

I come to a halt, on the long street the only house not alight with the shining of bulbs is their address, 3306 Drover McDonald Ave, second block, I stare and swallow hard. And I step forward, my footsteps make a hollow sound and I push open the gate and step up each of the stairs,

Number One,

My fingers graze the posts, my hands wander in the air, soft snow falls around me, and clutches to my clothes and skin, getting tangled in my hair.

Number Two,

I am almost there, and it feels as if fate is playing with me, there are no lights in the windows, and shadows creep behind me, and I can feel the crossroad heading towards me, the choice, and what do I choose?

Number Three,

I stand at the doorway, and I reach up, my hand small against the knocker, the metal is cold on my fingertips, and I slowly pull back and boom. I knock.

No answer, the silence behind the door is defining, and in the distance I can hear a Christmas carol being sung, the voices of a family all as one, and I listen to it, and I feel it, I am forgotten, for I have been lying to myself for time and time again, I am forgotten, and I feel alone. For somewhere in my mind I had imagined the Christmas spirit with my family, with my life, with all of them, all together, somewhere in my mind I had thought that would be an option, but I was wrong, so I am turning away, and I am leaving.

Down the three steps, and out onto the street and back to the subway and I stare at it, the people all bundled in joy, holding presents close to their chests, whispering as their breath forms clouds of mist in the air, and it pulls up and I go in, and I go, beneath the ground away from the possibility to a hell that has no voice, to a world where I have no choice.

I shiver, the streets are cold, the cobblestones covered in a thin, glazed ice, I can feel the wind whisper through my bones, I can feel the world turn beneath my feet, and I can feel the tears, hot on my cheeks, I am not crying, I remind myself so often to be strong, but there are no lights and perfection on the familiar street, and there are no carols just the wind and the fog, the ice and me. I can hear the rats tiny feet against the ground, and without looking at the time, I know it is far past midnight. The shadows peer at me, with eyes of their own and though there is a chill on my back I am not afraid of anything but the loneliness that digs at me, that seems to drown me.

The alleyway is dark, I reach out a hand and run it along the walls, the brick is mossy and wet, and the stink of frozen flesh and death reeks, as if I am trapped in a world unknown. My feet ache, as does my eyes, that attempt to see through the darkness, see past the fear that clouds my senses and fills my bones with a numbing ache, as if I am breed to be drowned, and here I am forgotten. There is a fog that creeps like a snake, twirling in the air, and in it I can hear voices, the whisper of a nightmare. And I stop, my feet lining up next to each other.

Why do I stop? Because the voices they know my name, they are calling me, and in the fog I can see blood on the streets, thick and red, dripping like water from the pipes. And I swallow hard, and slowly take my hand from the wall and lift it, bringing it into the moonlight and I stifle a scream, swallowing it back as I stare at my fingers, red, such a dark red, and I can see in the blood that stains my nails and flows over my skin my reflection, and there is a fear in my eyes like one I have never seen before. And I am going to run, my mind is telling me to run fast, far, but I cannot move, I am shaking but the blood, the stains it smells like death, like a life and a soul that was living just moments ago. And I want it, the blood, the way it is so very smooth over my hands, so very smooth over my skin, I want it. And that scares me the most.

There is breath on my neck, I can feel it. The murmur of air on my spine, I can feel it, eyes, digging into my flesh the trickle of fear whispers down my spine, and I am shaking, trembling. But I do not turn, instead I stand, as if paralyzed, and I am broken, the door was locked, and the invitation to a sliver of heaven was not accepted, so I am here, with walls on all sides, and the cold filling my bones with a terrible hatred.

I hate, I hate this life, the way I have to wait, to walk to stand to smile, I hate the way I am not one of them, and I am so lonely, the loneliness calls me and breeds through me like a disease, filling me with a desire to burn, to destroy and I am horrified. There is a feeling of dread, I cannot escape, fate brought me to a cross roads, a destiny and I chose, and now I am here, and there are two monsters in the alleyway lit by the crescent moon, myself and the forgotten, and we are one.

The breath on my back traces my spine, and every nerve feels the cold air filled with a hunger for flesh, for pain, for vengeance, and I want it to, I am craving disaster, I am craving the blood that drips from my fingers, that paints the walls, that sings beneath my skin, in the veins that trace my arms.

And I hear words, from far away, his voice, reminding me, warning me, and it awakens me from the desire that breeds like a plague beneath my skin, within my heart, beyond my mind and reason, it calls me, it stops me from lifting those red fingers to my lips and trying it, trying forever. I cannot see his eyes in the mist, I can only remember, and my mind, the greatest weapon of all, it reminds me of the train pulling away, his words honest, as if telling me to be okay, I remember but I can hold onto a memory I do not cherish, can I cherish something that I believe is wrong, and his voice, like hell and heaven it calls,

"Rose, wherever you're going, be careful, it's a dangerous world out there,"

I bite my lip, and close my eyes, the tears have stopped, and slowly my hands closes into a fist, and I walk onwards, my steps are loud in the silence, and with each step I hear another one, mirroring my actions. I stop and the steps behind me stop, and slowly I reach for my wand, hidden beneath my sleeve, but the wood is cold and I cannot feel the magic run through my veins as I often do.

I take another step, and like an echo or a response I hear the same step behind me, so close as if I could reach around and touch the sound. I am shaking from cold and fear and still the deep want for human flesh, for someone to pay, for someone to pay for leaving me behind on that doorstep of that orphanage.

And then I feel it, or maybe I hear it, a voice, like an angel, it sings to me, it calls me, it sounds so very sweet, like a mother, and the lullaby makes my mind blank, and my eyes shut, and I am lost, it rises around me, and it sings, soft, and timid, but like a hurricane and yet it calms the cold sweat on my brow, it calms the fear that rages beneath my dreams, it calms me, it sounds like a dream of something I cannot reach,

"Through flesh and bone and songs of old,"

"Through ash and fire, haunting you in the cold,"

"Breed on desire and dreams untold,"

"A candle lit, and so hopes slip,"

"Cast by witch and so scars rip,"

"That blood that tastes, the hunger that awakes,"

"A memory for a penny gold,"

"And so your story will never be told,"

"The street is bare and you are alone,"

"And you are lost in night with no home,"

"Bound by blood, bound by heart,"

"Lost in a time that never starts,"

"Forgotten wind, forgotten dream,"

"And so your world will no longer spin,"

"Death is found beneath your bones,"

"So take my hand and drown alone…."

And I whisper it with them, as if I know the words, the tune, and the chant that haunts. And the words hunt me, finding me in a moment unseen, and I want it. The flesh, the blood that slips over my lips, but I deeper than that hunger for the soul is his voice, soft, repeating itself over and over, keeping me sane, and though I cannot see his golden eyes, I can hear it, velvet on silk, and I keep walking. Faster, feet hitting the ground, but it stops me. A hand clasping around my wrist, the talons digging into my flesh, but it is familiar, that hand, the skin transparent, and in it I can see memories, running as blood in their veins, people laughing, and tears, someone left alone, and then I see it.

My memory, lost in their veins, I can see him, Potter, his hands pulling me close, the dress floating around us, but his eyes, they tell a different story, they seem to hunt me, his eyes are not golden, they are dark, as if pits of hell I could fall into, and his voice in my mind fades until non-existent. And I stare at it, and he has a knife, clutched in his fist, and it has the same blood that stains my hands, the same blood that drips from the pipe, the same blood that lines the walls, and with a horror I realise It is my blood, my blood that covers the walls, that stains the knife, and a tear soft, and not warm, cold, cold like death, as if I am looking down upon the hands of death that clasp my wrist close, and a hopelessness surrounds.

And I cannot breath, trapped. And as my hand comes away from my face, the tear captured on a blistered finger, it is not transparent, it is red, for I am bleeding, as if am dying, and I cannot breath, the blood seems to gurgle from my throat, and clog the air from the world, it runs from my nose and drips to the floor, it slips from my eyes and ears tracing my skin.

And then I blink and the nightmare is gone. And I sigh, chest rising and falling like crazy, and I am scraping at my flesh, fingers digging into my skin, as if I cannot control myself, and I start to whisper, my voice hoarse, but the words are not comprehensible. And behind me, in the fog that rises from the ground, from the walls, from this nightmare unseen,

There is a voice, and a scraping, no a sobbing and I cannot move, I want to help, I can hear it, softly, the breathing, and the air whispering in and out of someone's lips, the struggle of pain that rips through their voice as they cry. I cannot move. They are struggling to stand, the voice is feminine young, older than me, but so very afraid, lonely, and its tears I can hear droplet hit the floor.

Boom. And a whisper, but when it speaks, a chill runs up my spin, it's my voice, my voice comes from its lips, my voice whispering, my voice listening and their voice mirroring.

There is a sound, of crawling knees scraping the ground, cloth ripping, I can feel eyes piercing my spine like knives, I cannot breath. My trunk slips from my fingertips and hits the ground, but it makes no sound, my own breath is unheard, the pounding of my pulse is quieted, and I am not sure if I am alive or if I am dead.

And it watches me, whatever it is, as if I am its equal and its reflection, and I cannot turn, for in fact all common sense is forgotten, and so is his voice. I can only think of the hardships, the pain, the beatings, the way they would touch me, hurt me, as if I was less. And that voice, the way that it slowly moves closer, my voice, my movements, that creature that is defeated on the ground, that sobs echoes through my skull is me, future, past, but perhaps not present, for I stand now, wand clutched in my fisted palm, and my eyes are not yet giving up, even though the creature, the monster moves closer, slithering, and my teeth chatter with a fear, with a hunger, with it all.

My hands shake, and I look down at them, they are not my own, they are skeletons, they are talons, the skin clear, and in them I can see a reflection I blink, and my skin returns. And slowly, I turn, and I stare into the blackness, and nothing is there, I lick my lips and run a hand through my hair and sigh.

No monster, no whisper, no nothing, the fog stays but in it I can only see garbage and then, so very softly does a finger climb up my back, I can feel the fingernail digging into my flesh, and so very slowly it reaches my shoulder, and I close my eyes, and my breath shakes, and my wand lowers, I feel it, whatever it may be, and its body is just millimetres away.

And the shadows have eyes watching us, and the darkness has claws digging into my world, and there is infinity beyond the two of us, but we are the same, her and I, and the darkness watches on without us, all around us and then she lifts her finger. Boom. And when it comes down onto my shoulder, my eyes open wide and I am turning and her hand falls and we watch each other, her and I.

She is not made of glass but her body is transparent, and in it I can see thousands, millions of memories running by like blood, and her veins glow, like heart strings, she is my height, and her head is tilted to the side, and in her chest, where her heart should be is a cage, and behind it I can see souls whispering through the bars, trying to escape, and her heart is black like coal, like ash, as if it was burned. And then slowly she grins, teeth flashing, and I can see blood, staining her lips, her teeth and her eyes, eyes, and I stare at them, her eyes mock me, and I swallow hard, her eyes are golden.

And slowly those golden eyes turn into pits and I watch them darken, and become the darkness and slowly she lifts her hand, and I watch the movement, my pulse raising, and she runs a long talon down my cheek, cutting the skin, I wince, and her grin widens, and so very slowly she lifts the bloody talon to her lips and licks it clean, eyes dipping shut, and then she runs her tongue over them, and steps closer, I look down, she has no feet, in fact it is as if she floats, as if her body never begins or ends or exists.

Boom.

The world is exploding, and there is no going back, the street is covered in blood, I can see the carcasses of people on the ground, and I am walking, my feet silent on the cobblestones, a hand over my mouth and fear in my eyes, I can't breathe, I can't move, I am unable to do either and so I am nothing. And then I am back, and her eyes are hypnotizing me again, throwing me through the future, the past, the present, as if she is toying with me, enjoying the fear that lights in my eyes, like a candle,

I cannot describe it, the monster that brews in the shadows, and I am trapped and it can see me, my fears, my dreams, my hopes a world bowed down to nothing.

It whispers as it moves towards me, it is a girl, older than me, but not by much, tall when she stands and weak and small and hungry when she crouches, her hands like talons, her eyes demons, and I watch her whisper, her voice the sound of the crackle of fire and the breaking of bones, the burning of ash,

"You are so young child, and yet you prowl the streets like me past the midnight lights, you are so weak child, take my hand I'll make it better,"

And I want to as I watch the monster form into a child, her eyes big and she hides behind long lashes and tangled bangs, her hand extended upwards and I shake my head, my voice softer then hers but a warning held in the hiss of air between my teeth,

"I am strong; I am so very strong…."

It blinks and rises from the girl and she grows in height until she towers over me, and I can see, trapped inside her heart, that is black and burning shrouded in smoke is love. I can see a family laughing, a family laughing without her, happy without her, after leaving her behind. I can see hope crushed in her eyes, dreams never found, a lie of love never given and I stand from where I cower in the corner and step forward, my hand extending, and I am mesmerized and I am fascinated and my hand finds her heart, and I place my hand to it, feeling the warmth seep through my fingertips, feeling the warmth chill my bones, and I step forward and rest my hand upon her chest, head bowed in defeat, and I whisper so very softly,

"I am not forgotten, but you are, and I do not pity monsters but I respect you for who you are, but you cannot hurt me, because I have things to do, a life to live, I will not beg for my life, I will not beg but you will respect me, as I am one of you…"

She tilts her head and leans down her finger slipping over my head, and resting by my temple and then she pulls slowly, and I feel a memory leave, and I go to capture it, I go to hold it close but her eyes stop me, and she watches it, she watches the way the memory floats from the side of my head, and she is taking it for her own, and she is smiling, not kindly, as if she enjoys the way I gasp, the way she takes a part of my soul for her own, the way I am nothing without it, the memory,

V, Dom, Rox, Lucy and me, all laughing by the lake in second, and Potter is there with Fred and the rest of the boys laughing behind them, having fun with them, smiling. The water is cool on our skins as we run into it, and the picnic is of a large variety of foods and sweets, and we are playing games, shy of the boys, and happy, and I remember now, that memory, it was the first time they had felt like family, like something more than just friends, that just classmates.

And I watch her eyes fill with an envy green like a hatred I have never seen and she laughs, soft, and then louder as if she is growing in strength, and her hand closes around the memory in a fist, and it slowly crumples, like a piece of paper thrown out, like a dream not worth it, and it turns to smoke, and I watch the memory slip into her veins, inside of her heart, and become a part of her blood stream, her body, her skin, and I watch it disappear, and I feel the tears, soft, flowing down my cheeks and I turn away, my voice is heavy, and I am no longer afraid, so the tears are gone, I am not weak, I am strong, I am powerful, and I know what she is, she is alone, she has never been happy like that, she has never gotten the chance at happiness like that, but I have, and I am blessed but lost of words, for I am nothing.

And I yell, loud, my voice breaking the silence, ringing through the shadows,

"LET ME BE!"

She ignores me and stares at the ashes that fall around the memory, and she grins leaning forward on nobbled knees and extending a talon to wipe away a tear from my cheek, she stares at it, head cocked to the side and then she brings it to her lips and I watch her lick my tear off of her talon, her tongue is forked, and red with blood. My stomach turns and I swallow hard, backing up slowly and she watches me, a mild interest in her eyes,

"They will never accept you as their equal, they will never put you where you belong, and you will always remain nothing, the dirt beneath their shoes, the grime they walk by,"

She grins and steps forward again, her movements are liquid, her eyes are terrifying, she does not yet know who I am, perhaps I do not know who I am, but she thinks she can threaten me, that I am also dirt beneath she shoes, and perhaps, a sigh, perhaps I am.

"You are a shining little penny they noticed, but they have a thousand shiny pennies and you cannot stay new forever, and so they will get tired of you, and grow exhausted of your tongue, and cast you away,"

She nods slowly, and laughs long, and then she is gone, disappearing into mist, only to be reappearing behind me, hands twirling a lock of my hair, golden that catches the light of the moon,

"Child your blood tastes so sweet won't you let me have another taste?"

I am shaking and then I lift my wand, slowly, and bring it around, pointing it at her temple, and she hisses, a laugh, a cackle, she is not afraid of it, but she stops laughing when she sees my eyes, and hears my voice, and I whisper it, the chant, the last line,

"Death is found beneath your bones, so take my hand and drown alone…"

She steps forward and then she is grabbing hold of my head, fast, and she is inside me, her mind slipping through my past as if sifting through a box of worn, old letters, she is finding something precious and disposing of it, and then she finds it, the first memory, my mother's hands gloved in black leaving me on the doorstep on that faded welcome mat, leaving me for dead, and then she is out of my head and in front of me, her eyes, golden and curious,

"You are forgotten my friend, you are lost before you are found, you are spinning a web my friend, but blood finds blood, and bones are meant to break,"

I am shaking and she dips her head as if a bow or salute and then she grins going on,

"You are a child my love, but you will grow and your skin will become clear like ice, and I will see not veins but memories of keeping, and they will hate you for what you've done, for you and I are alone within an absolute…"

She stares at me slowly and then she makes a sudden movement, her hand going to her transparent skin, that dances with memories, and she rips at her lungs so that they fall on the ground, her skin slashed, and I watch red blood, beautiful and unearthly slip between her fingertips dripping to the floor, guts and blood spilling to the floor, covering the floor in carnage, and I watch as she reaches down and picks up her lung, her fingers wet with the red substance, and her eyes alive with flames untamed, and she licks her lips slow, and bites it teeth breaking the organ in half, and she rips it off, pieces of raw flesh slipping over her chin and falling to the ground, and I look away, I watch her swallow it, and I feel bile rise in my throat, and then she grins at me, teeth bared,

"Bound by blood, flesh is flesh, I can breathe without a lung, live without an organ, I am not weak he made me strong…."

She takes another bite of herself and I turn away, hands covering my face and ears, my body shaking in disgust,

"Have a bite sister, I can see the hunger in your eyes, you want to try being untamed by their rules, you want them to pay for the scars and the cuts and the bruises, you want to be proud of who you are without a mask, take a chance sister, try me,"

I can feel the world spinning, everything spinning, what have I done? It is all I can ask myself, no voices can be heard, and so just emotions are my tormenters.

She growls and grabs hold of my arm her grip tight, suffocating, I can feel the bones ache, and slowly she sinks a long, dangerously sharp talon into my chest, it cuts the skin open, and I am struggling, fighting her, yelling spells that do not touch her, and the talon digs deeper, I can feel it slip into my flesh, I can feel it inside of me, squiggling around, turning in my body, and pain, hot, white and blinding, and I scream loud, the sound taring from my lips I can feel the nail graze my flesh the pop of a bone as she digs deeper the sound and the gurgle of my blood, and the bile rising in my throat, and then her nail touches my heart and my soul, and she watches me, eyes intense, her gaze searing me and she flicks her finger and my heart is grazed and I can't breathe,

And she withdraws her talon and licks it clean, the droplets of flesh, and her hand thick with blood, my blood, and she leans down and says slowly,

"After all us orphans are bound by blood…"

And she is gone….

I wake up in the gutter, dirt pouring over me, and I shiver, long and hard, I smell horrible and blood stains my clothes, I can see it lined under my fingertips, I glance down, eyes blinking slowly, the sun is foggy in the grey, and all around me is snow stained in red, I can see hand marks, and footprints leading towards the water, and then, by the water's edge I can see it, a box, small, and wrapped in golden paper, a red bow on top. And though my vision is blurry from sleep and grime, I can see my name, carved on top and I swallow hard, blinking away. When I look again, it's gone.

Then my gaze lowers and I feel my breath catch, there is a hole in my heart, a hole in my chest, I can see the white of a bone at the bottom, an d nail marks line the edges, and I stare, at the dried blood, the clinging layers of flesh, the loose veins, I can feel bile rise and lean to the side as I vomit, the vomit is red as well, and I bite my lip, hands slowly unbuttoning my shirt and taking it off, the blood stains left behind once its off. I then look down, my bra is plain, and the cold causes my skin to react in goose bumps, or perhaps that is the fever I have retained.

And with the shirt off I examine the damage I have gotten, the blisters on my wrists, the scratch on my cheek, and I take the shirt, cutting it into strips with my fingernails, one of them cracking, and wrap it around my harmed wrist, bending it to and fro to make sure it is moving properly, I then scramble for my coat, and pull it over my legs and stomach like a blanket, and then I look down.

The hole causes the stench of blood to fill my body and the roaring of fear in my ears to awaken and I go to touch it, staring in horror, and slowly, as my fingers graze the skin, and pain shoots through me, I watch the skin nit itself together, as if repairing the damage, and slowly my body fixes itself, the almost gone scars on my arms and my legs, the nick at the bottom of my ear where Dom burned me, the rip on my knee where I stumbled and fell in the dark, the shadows beneath my eyes, the nail marks on my arms and wrists, and the soul and memory that left me come back, everything fades and heals, slipping back until my skin is unmarked of pain, and perfection shines through it. And so I gasp, air filling my lungs slowly, and I take a deep breath as if about to fall over.

And I am shaking, from the fear of the unknown, of not understanding, of not getting why, and with no evidence of the truth existing, and no truth to be believed, no witness but myself, I am a liar trapped in my mind, and I am unknown to the world that spins by, so i pull the coat over my form, and leave the stained shirt on the ground.

I stand slowly, I need to be safe, I need to be safe I repeat it like a mantra, and there is only one place I can be safe now, and that is the Potters Manner. So here I come.

I stumble to the alley way, where it all happened and sure enough there is my trunk, owl, and my cat left in Hogwarts for the winter since the family that I was supposed to originally live in for the Christmas was allergic to cats.

Picking up my luggage and buttoning up my coat, I consider my options. The orphanage, but the memories of the monsters that brewed in the shadows, of her skin, her talons digging into my flesh causes a chilly breeze to run through the alleyway, and I swallow hard.

I can wait for the next train back to Hogwarts, but while I wait, since it comes on Christmas Eve, four days away, where would I stay? So that won't work.

And then the third option and I sigh, running a hand through my hair, The Potters Estate. And his invitation, but what if it was a joke, no matter how serious he pretended to be, he must be a liar, right? I cannot accept the possibility of infinity, and that's what it is. But the scars are gone, and my memory has arrived, and the hole in my heart has healed and I am alive, or perhaps I am some sort of in-between, for what had she done? Her words still echo, but I ignore, and slowly I decide. Number Three, so I am taking the cross road fate has placed before me, I am taking the choice that I have been given, I am nothing and everything within the fate that is written. So perhaps…..

It rises before me, like a dream from the world I have never known, it is beyond the rest of the world, in the countryside of England, high and beautiful, more beautiful than Hogwarts and rising in grandness above it.

High in the sky circling over the turrets, and tips of the house are brooms, all the best models, and the fastest speeds, and I can see them doing ticks in the air, screaming their heads off, and throwing snow balls at each other. I blink away the sunlight in my eyes, and glance down at myself, the blood on my shoes, the tangled mess of my hair, and shame washes over me, as I examine the world they live in, he lives in.

The house is large, four towers, but not as high, only three layers tall, but big, the front lined with large windows, and instead of being made out of brick, it is made of a dark mahogany with golden window linings and rich colours that drape across the windows and hide the sunlight.

It has big wooden doors with golden knockers and two lions heads roaring on each door, and up to the door is a walkway lined in evergreens, their leaves and branches high, swaying in the breeze, and leaves falling onto the snow laden ground, though most of the branches are bear with winters arrival. There is a high fence, but it is wooden, like a horse paddock, and I watch it stand upright, perfectly flawed.

I can see a woods, deep and dark and mysterious behind the house, and a large porch, and the two gazebos at the end of each of the front corners, the rooms entirely made of glass, I can see Quidditch loops in the back, smaller than Hogwarts' grand ones, but still shiny in the suns light, and behind the entire masterpiece is a cliff, with the sea roaring below, and a sea breeze, salty and turning through the air from it. I swallow hard, and I go to walk away, to where?

And a voice stops me, and the scuff of shoes as they land, the soft brush of a broom being propped up and a gaze pinning me down, and then footsteps until the person is closer, and I turn, gold eyes meeting ocean eyes, his voice is curious, happy, breathless, and a little boyish,

"Was there a cosmic explosion or did the world end, because I think Rose BlackThorne is on my door step,"

I glare at him, and turn to go, but his voice catches me before I can turn, before I can walk away, and it if softer, for he is appraising me, looking me over, examining the blood on my shoes, the tangled hair, the red eyes, the soft shadows that have developed under my eyes over the train ride here, and lastly my coat, and very noticeable lack of shirt,

"What happened Rose?"

His voice is soft, and I blink, looking away and sighing, blowing out my cheeks and scratching my forehead,

"I'd rather not answer that…"

He nods slowly, and smiles softly, a little curious, a little worried, a little bit of a liar, and a little bit of an actor, and his voice is like music to me ears, he leans forward, or down, since I am so darn short,

"Well Rose, let's pretend I didn't ask,"

I nod and then sigh again, as if exhausted just standing here, with the suns hot rays and the soft chill of the snow in my boots, he continues his voice a reminder of everything, and perhaps nothing as well,

"Oh Black what a mess you've made,"

I blink slowly, and clear my throat, and answer,

"I haven't made a mess, not for you, not yet,"

He chuckles, teeth flashing,

"Come in, the invitation still stands, and knowing you, you already know you'll regret this decision, but you'll make it anyway,"

I blink slowly, and then I nod again, my voice distant,

"I don't want to spend Christmas alone, but Potter, I still hate you even if I do this,"

He laughs again, head tilting back, there is a soft dusting of snow on his brow,

"Of course, the day Black stops hating me is the day the sun comes out,"

I roll my eyes, and wrap my hands around myself, holding myself together and clear my throat,

"And no one can know you invited me,"

It's his turn to roll his eyes, and his voice is sultry when he speaks,

"Your acting like were going to share the same room, or eat from each other's plates, or make out in the bathroom, I'm simply gonna walk you into the room, and show you the door, not bite you,"

I swallow softly but I do not blush, there is no life in me, and he sees the lack of reaction and sighs, running a hand through his hair and examining me again,

"There you go again Rose, being so bloody complicated,"

I stare at him, head tilting to the side, and then he extends his hand, palm up, an offering, and I look at it, the calluses, and the Quidditch work that shows in experience, and I take it, slowly, my hand finding his, and he grins, teeth flashing and eyes turning into molten grow, and he tugs me a long, and I stumble after him, laughing, and he glances back, hair falling into his eyes, and stops, abruptly, turning to face me, and we are inches apart.

And he is still grinning and then he lets go of my hand and makes a wide gesture, hands upturned and excitement coursing through him, and he smiles, big, like a child on Christmas day, and he has a glow, a warmth in his eyes, slipping from beneath long lashes,

"Welcome to the Potters love,"

I giggle, and glance around, peering, and then I say to him in a way to obvious voice,

"I don't see McGonagall here, who are you calling love?"

He steps forward, and a tongue slips over his bottom lip,

"You, Black, I'm talking to you…"

And I swing my head left to right, back and forth,

"Who said you could,"

He is walking towards me again; it is getting rather annoying honestly,

"I don't need anyone's permission..."

I roll my eyes,

"Right, whatever you say Potter,"

And he is grinning again and tries to grab my hand but I shake my head, and then he pulls me forward, grabbing onto my wrist, as I stumble forward, and without knocking he throws open the front door, and I am here, inside. And it is home, there is no better word to describe it, a clock, the size of me hangs on the far wall, and each Weasley and Potter has their own line, and I watch James' one switch to the house.

But more important than any clock is the women that stands before me, she is beautiful, tall her hair short but not too rightly put, she is wearing an apron, and her eyes are green, bright green, and she has a brilliant smile, and a small bit of confusion and James, oh James he looks at her as if she is something else, as if she is everything, and I feel a warmth, the joy that radiates off of them both, onto me. And she does not look me up and down, but straight at me, and then she smiles, big, wide, perfect, the smile of a mother, and my heart aches with it.

James' voice breaks my thoughts,

"Mum, this is Rose BlackThorne, she'll be spending Christmas with us, she's the one Dom and V keep talking about,"

I smile and nod, not sure what to do with myself, to curtsey or bow, or smile, or shake her hand, and she watches me for a moment and then she laughs and steps forward and pulls me into a warm hug,

"Welcome Rose, and trust me, as nervous as you may look I promise we don't bite,"

I laugh, and my arms wrap around her, slowly, and I can feel a happiness wrap around me with her arms, and over her shoulder I see James stand, hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side, lip caught between his teeth, an eyebrow arched,

And I watch his lips mouth,

"You're in for the biggest adventure of them all…"

And then he turns, leaving the two of us, and in minutes I am engulfed by my friend's arms, and they are all happy, so very happy, and I am smiling, we both are. We all are, and they are murmuring, and holding me, and keeping me close, and they are saying something, and pushing clothes at me, and telling me to get dressed, asking what happened, and I blink slow, and her words ring in my mind, from an entirely different world,

 _"They will get tired of you, and grow exhausted of your tongue, and cast you away,"_

And I raise my chin and shake my head, looking around, I am here, in the heart of their world, in their own home, being lead to my own room, with the world's most influential woman I know, Ginny Potter, the rooms where decisions are made, where dreams are created, and I stop and whisper, under my breath, to the whole wide world.

"I'm still here, and they won't cast me out, because I am not like you, I'm no monster…."


	18. She did not love the golden eyes

Chapter 18: She did not love the golden eyes

James POV

She looks beautiful there, her eyes shut, hair fanned over her face, comically ruffled, perhaps she is more real asleep, lips parted, the circles under her eyes disappearing, and long lashes slipping over her soft skin, and cheeks, not flushed, not warm, but cold, as if ice has sifted through the window. But a glow of life whispers from between her lips. A glow of life shines in her skin. A glow of life makes her unforgettable.

Miraculous. This event, her knocking on my front door, waiting for me in the front lawn, yes, her form was covered in blood and I can feel a fear, even now, as I remember, trickle down my spine. I remember far too much, but I remember what the blood reminded me of, it reminded me of that night, where the blood was red, all over the street, and it was the first time I saw one, a forgotten, someone I can hardly remember even if I wanted to. It was that night, the night I met Sheila. But I blink and her brown eyes disappear. I look down at Rose, she is now clean, her skin clear. She has a slight crinkle in her brow, as if she is worried, about the world, and maybe, about me. But I shake that thought off.

But incredible, her lying in the bed of one of the guest rooms, heavy red drapes hiding the suns sharp light, her pyjamas, which are covered in tiny daisies, against a dark blue. And I look again at her eyes, closed tight, but she does not whisper, or speak, soft air whispering in and out of her lips, over her lips.

I wonder, as I watch her sleep, I wonder why the blood, and a theory, as I watch her begins to form, and I can feel the wheels turning, and there is a chance, the slightest of the slight, that my thoughts could be wrong, but what am I thinking, I'm James Bloody Potter I'm never wrong. I grin at that, running a hand through my hair.

I lean forward, and grin again, eyes naughtily glancing down at her slightly unbuttoned pyjamas, and I feel a soft chuckle begin to rise, but quench it, smirking. Her skin looks very soft, but Sheila's eyes rise in my mind and I blink them away, a slight shadow of anger whispering across my face at the thought of her. I murmur, softly, but eyes dancing, leaning close to her ear, inches away from her, and I try to make my voice soft and conniving, and of course I succeed. And so I whisper,

"Wake uppppp Roseeeeee"

She stirs, and murmurs, her words gravelly, and her breath hot, her eyes not opening, but the slight crinkle of her brow disappearing, I wonder for a moment what it was about. But I stop myself, that beautiful girl, lying here, she has seen horrors, I remember the first time I saw her face, in first year, as we walked up to the carriages, I had seen nothing, but now I can see the phantoms that pull the old metal, but she, then, she had seen them, because I remember her gasping, eyes wide in horror, and in those eyes there was something lost, never found. Death, she had witnessed it, I was sure of it, the way she looked at the carriages, as if she could see the death in the eyes of whatever monsters made the wheels turn.

I lick my lips and watch her mirror the action, her tongue red, I feel my smirk widen, she is here, in my house, and I can feel my bloody heart pounding, no other girl has made my heart pound. Her voice is thick with morning, and soft, like hot air,

"Shuttt uppp Vvvvv,"

I chuckle, soft in her ear, and murmur closer, my lips millimetres from her skin, placed just above where her nerve is, and I allow my voice to become more seductive, more like liquid gold,

"I'm not V, love,"

She stops murmuring and freezes, her body going taught, and I watch her chest rise and fall, she has forgotten to breath, and lies there, eyes squeezed shut, and then those eyes pop open, and blue green meets gold, and I grin, an eye darting close in a wink, I can almost see the effect, and I reach a finger forward, long, and poke her nose repeatedly, watching her cheeks redden, and I say in a very sing song voice,

"Wakey wakey hun,"

She screams at me, hands balling into fists as she yanks the blankets over her form and glares at me, breathing fast, and pulling back, I grin, rocking on my heels and standing from my crouched form, towering over her, my hands finding my pockets, as I tilt my head back, making my neck muscles more prominent, I know the girls go crazy for that, but her eyes never leave mine, and she doesn't even notice my efforts, so I grumble softly, and put my head back to its original position, then cocking it to the side. I make my voice humorous, to relax her, and maybe relax me,

"Merlin Black, it's just me, and I'm no murderer,"

She breathes in sharp, and closes her eyes, groaning as she flops back onto the bed, and covers her face with her hands, I watch the movement, and as soon as her eyes are covered, I puff out my cheeks, to let go of some of the nerves, and then compose myself again, arching a brow, listening to her voice groan in distain,

"How the hell did you get in here Potter,"

I chuckle again, and sit on the edge of the bed; it's comfy, but not as nice as my bed, which I had imported from Dubai. I lean closer to her and raise both eyebrows, feeling our breaths mix, and she peeks at me through her fingers as I speak, and I whisper, barely containing my laughter,

"The door dummy, I used the door…"

She glares at me, and pulls a pillow over her head, its cream, and her hair can be seen beneath it, and I laugh, full out, as if unable to contain it, and I gesture to the pillow, my voice heavy with sarcasm, and I add a hint of interest behind it to keep her guessing as to what I am thinking,

"Are you trying to suffocate yourself Black, because if you are let me assist,"

She groans, from beneath the pillow, and pulls it closer, ignoring my previous comment, as I expected her to, and she keeps going, her voice muffled from beneath the cloth, and yet still audible,

"In your house is it okay to walk into people's rooms without knocking,"

I grin, and lean closer, whispering over the pillow, tongue dashing across my teeth, which after doing the action, I realise has no purpose, since she can't see me anyways, and answer, my voice slathered with fake modesty and an honesty that is spread very thinly, but with that same hint of interest, to keep her wondering if anything I am saying is true, beneath the lie, or perhaps it is all a lie, I enjoy it, the game, perhaps, that is all we are, me and her, a game, but I wonder, at what point do you get too attached to the pieces, that you can't let them go. And so I say,

"I did knock, and when you didn't answer I automatically switched to heroic mode and thought of the possibility if you bleeding to death after being viciously stabbed and slammed open the door _, it was very epic,"_

She pushes the pillow off and stares at me, long and then laughs, straight out, it comes naturally from her lips and she blushes softly, stopping the laughter as soon as it comes. The laughter surprises me, and I widen my eyes slightly, and then look at her with a non plussed expression, stressing my see through serious act. She watches me, eyes alight, and swings her legs out of bed, standing and stretching like a cat, turning to face me, voice playful, almost mocking my own,

 _"Epic was it,_ and when you realised I was absolutely fine, did you feel rather embarrassed,"

I tilt my head and watch her watch me, her eyes are happy, but there is a deep mysterious worry beneath them, and she still watches me with a light fear, as if what happened, as if what Teddy told me is true. And the thought of that scares me as well, or does it thrill me, I want to be loved, my entire life I wanted some kind of insurance that someone would love me forever, like destiny, that someone would be there till the end. And I don't believe in fate, but I wouldn't mind being loved forever, and definitely wouldn't mind by her.

I lie down onto the bed, the sheets smell like her, like roses, like dreams, like hope, and I breathe in the smell, and I enjoy it, her smell, unique. I grab the pillow she was just covering her head with it and prop it underneath my own head, my dark locks panning over it, cocking an arm underneath my head, hosting it up,

"Not at all, my heroics were not so quickly forgotten, as I went forward, on one knee and made sure you were breathing,"

She sighs and edges away from the bed, feet inching backwards, and she laughs, softly, but her eyes are wary, as if I am a wild animal that could attack at any moment, and I wonder, why, why does she look at me like that, like I am something incredible. I'm not, the image in the mirror is beautiful, handsome, what everyone wants, but the eyes, my eyes they give away my weakness, they hold a pain, like hers did.

There is an awkward pause, and she clears her throat, tucking some hair behind her ear, biting the inside of her cheek, and I watch each movement, making where my eyes go very noticeable, very prominent, and her eyes follow where mine look. They go to her lips, pink, lush, and she clears her throat, and they go to her eyes, where she raises an eyebrow, her voice is daring, and also a little frightened when she breaks the awkward pause,

"Why are you here?"

I smile, slow, and close my eyes, enjoying the sun as she pulls back the drapes, and the movement, the whole seen, me on the bed, both of us dazed with just waking up, her standing there, smiling at me, by the window, in the same room, I get a strange sense of home, of future, as if every day we could wake up like this, together, with that smile, those eyes, and I get a strange longing, perhaps a want for love…. Or maybe something more than that, maybe a forever with someone _I love,_

I think of a witty answer, as she looks out the window, the sunlight making her hair glow like gold, like my eyes, and when I do respond my voice is jokey, happy,

"As in, _here my house, or here my guest room?"_

She rolls her eyes, though mine are closed, bathing in the sunlight, I can almost hear the movement, and then the rustle of clothing as she crosses her arms, her response, it breaks the moment, just a little, for perhaps with my eyes shut, I was dreaming that this was something, that whatever this moment was would be repeated again and again, and one word, only word she says stands out, _temporarily,_ and so she says, her voice a gentle reminder of the now, the huge, million miles between us,

"As in the room you have so kindly given me to live temporarily,"

I smile, and chuckle softly, an eye peeking open to match her glare, and I blink it shut, stretching my arms,

"Is that sarcasm I detect in that voice BlackThorne?"

I open my eyes, I am scared, if I keep them closed, I might miss something in this golden paradise. She bites her lip and sighs, running a hand through her hair, which, by the way, is loose hanging over her shoulders, and slipping down her back, elegant and transcendent,

She softly starts braiding it, fingers working through the thick golden locks that shine with the new bound sunlight, her fingers are quick, nails parting them, and she sighs, her voice inquisitive and exasperated,

"Fine then, say what you have to say,"

I roll over and burry my head in her pillow, hair ruffling, and when I glance at her, she has a silly smile on her face, as if she finds me comical, and endearing, and I stick my tongue out at her, and she giggles, and then rolls her eyes again,

I make my voice purposefully deep and scruffy as if I just woke up,

"Just wanted to pop in and say hi"

She sighs, putting a loop over her hair, and pulling it taught,

"James, you do everything with some sort of a reason, I'm not blind,"

I grin, and prop my head up with my hand, hair falling in my eyes, she watches the movement,

"Maybe you are, you always seem to be squinting at me, as if you can't believe I'm real, perhaps I should come over there and reassure you,"

She shrinks back into the wall, and rolls her eyes, it seems as if that's all her eyes ever are doing, and she repeats the action so often,

"That isn't necessary Potter, and I don't stare…."

I grin, and laugh to myself, running a hand through my hair; it needs to be cut, just hanging into my eyes,

"Yeah right Rose…. Whatever you say,"

She sighs and turns, going to her trunk and grabbing some clothes, and disappearing into the bathroom. I watch her go. And as soon as the door is shut I am out of the bed and flying towards her trunk, hands unlocking it and looking through the many things. My eyes pause on some underwear, and I can feel my teenage boy self-grinning in perverted pride, and I stifle a chuckle, and push it to the side, and then I see it. Her Defence against the Dark Arts Book, with the slip, we all got at the end of the class, with a stamp of the rescue animal we would be responsible for within the class. I want to confirm. And I reach to open it.

She asked why I entered her room so suddenly, because what Teddy had said at the Train Station, what Teddy had said to me. And I feel guilt, as I hear the shower turn on, I feel a fear as well, that girl, in there, is she it? Is she the rest of my life? Can I really face that now? Am I really going to believe in fate, in a fool's errand, am I? What if I want more? What if she isn't enough? And I look down at my hands, coarse, always portrayed as strong, but the girl beyond that wall, what if she sees the one who isn't strong, the one who didn't do all of that, who doesn't smile all the time, who has seen things I shouldn't have. And I grind my teeth together and whisper to myself, my voice barely audible,

 _"Be strong James, undefeatable,"_

The sound of the train whistle and the turning on of her shower match each other and Teddy's voice it brings me back in time,

"James, your patronus animal, was a wolf right?"

I remember nodding, head lolled back, hands deep in the pockets of my coat, my expression blank and eyes guarded, I can feel the press, their cameras capturing my back, but I angle away from them, my hair hiding the bruising on my face, the train station was busy, I can hear the bustle, I remember it all, but the moment is so vivid, I could rip at it, but no matter how hard I try I cannot destroy it, and I hate that. Power, it feeds me like a green snake, wrapping around my throat, and choking me, power that runs in my veins, not bravery, so why am I red and Albus is green? Because everyone said I could handle it, even my parents, they said I wasn't the one they should worry about, and I shouldn't be, I should be the easy one, the one that is there for everyone else, but me. And I can do that, I am brave, I say I am brave so often, and that eventually I am.

I remember him stepping forward, hand grabbing onto my arm, Teddy's eyes are so very eye catching, they change colour, yellow, gold, ice, pink, purple, green, it's like a maze, I wish my eyes could hide like his do, behind whatever mask he chooses.

"Do you believe in fate?"

His voice was hushed; his eyes haunting, I remember examining him slowly, and licking my lips, head tilting to the right,

"No, neither fate nor coincidence exists; perhaps you and your maturity are full of bull,"

I remember him blinking and sighing, as if trying to decide what to say, eventually he spoke,

"Do you love Sheila?"

The question surprised me, and I stood slowly, and then I blinked and I remember forcing a laugh, hard, as if it was worth something and I remember my answer, and it sends a shiver down my spine, because I never talk about it, not to anyone, not even her, she doesn't ask questions, I've told you that before, that her personality is empty, true, but something else, something she did, perhaps, makes me have to pay a debt, makes me want to pay her back in kind, one day. And so I remember the truth, whispered to the man that is like a brother to me,

"Ted, she saved my life that night,"

I remember his eyes finding mine, and I remember him shaking his head, softly,

"What night? What do you mean she saved your life?"

I remember remembering, the fog blurry, the alleyway dark, I remember meeting her for the first time, her hands running along the walls of Diagon Alley, the darkness, watching us, I remember her laughing, the girls all around her, their skirts short, I remember the tilt of her head, the way her eyes found mine. I remember lying there, bleeding, blood seeping from my wounds, I remember their curses, and I remember how, how I had fallen, the blood red, the scars healed, so I cannot remember them. But I remember her laughter stopping, her hands grabbing mine, her eyes searching mine, I remember her wand, healing me, I remember her call for the hospital, I remember me telling her no, over and over, and over as if she needed to understand.

 _I remember her hands on my cheek, I remember her eyes finding mine, I remember her whispering, "I'm not leaving, I'm right here, I'm not leaving you for dead…"_

I remember Teddy's eyes worried, and his voice thick,

"It doesn't matter James, if you believe in fate or not, but it does matter if you love her…."

I remember watching him, and turning away,

"No. I never loved anyone like that… Like how you mean…."

And he grabbed my hand; he pulled me behind a pillar, and he is holding me, close, eyes wide, his hands were cold, his eyes were cold too, because he was scared for me, no one is ever scared for me. I remember what he said; the words still hit me, now, sitting on the floor in front of her trunk.

"Someone else got your animal, as in the opposite gender,"

I remember my heart pounding, and listening to him go on.

"And I won't tell Harry or Gin, but, you should know,"

I remember him swallowing hard,

"You've done more than enough, for everyone, but yourself, but you James,"

I remember his words, causing my heart to pound,

"You may not know her, and I won't give you a name, for fate does not need a reminder, but you, remind, find her and see if she is the one, and yes you owe your debts, but its unimportant how many debts those may be."

And I remember him grabbing my hands, and pulling me closer,

"Love, love James it wins wars, it starts wars, it can heal you, but if you let it get through your fingers, if you let it slip, there is no going back, none. And she may not seem like the one, hell, knowing you, you'll get scared, and you will run, and you will be too afraid of committing your life to someone…"

I remember his eyes strong, I remember how they turned sea green, like hers, and I remember the tear, soft on my cheek, and my eyes, they were wide with horror. He was right, I cannot commit, I have a life to live, and I don't want a tie to someone, where I have to be faithful, where there is no going back…

I remember him going on, wise, a brother, a teacher, a friend and perhaps a father, I remember his words,

"But when you love someone not a moment is wasted, not a second is worthless. It's scary, hell yeah, its bloody terrifying, so you don't need to find her, if it is her, when the time is right you will meet her again, later in life, when you are ready, when you are not so unprepared…. She'll wait for you. But her heart, her heart may not, it may not wait…"

A voice breaks my thoughts, her voice, curious, upset, and a little outraged, cutting through my thoughts, and her eyes, her gaze sharp, on me, on what I'm holding, unopened, it is strong, it is real, and I immediately put my guard up, plastering a grin on my face, but her words cut through that.

"James, put that book down…"

I do, slowly, and I watch her, and she watches me, and I swallow, hard, and stand, warry, and step forward, hands outstretched, as if she is now the wild animal, and the fear in her eyes, is reflected in mine and I blink, slow, and she goes on, her voice thick,

"James do you believe in fate?"

Her question has a double meaning, and it is as if we are speaking in code, both trying to hide our emotions, and my answer is pre rehearsed, like ice, like fire, and she knows I'm lying. In fact I am so sick of the question. How many times do they have to ask to know that I don't or do they just not want that answer? And so I answer her,

"Of course not, all lies, isn't it?"

She shakes her head, and steps closer, raising her chin, and I meet her inquisitive gaze, and her eyes are wide,

"Liar…. You dirty liar James…. I can see right through you, you think I'm blind? You are in for a nasty surprise,"

My breath shakes, and I laugh, harsh and run my tongue over my teeth, grinding my teeth together,

"Yeah right Rose, whatever you say,"

I mock her words from earlier, and she is the one rolling her eyes now, and she goes and picks up the book, and there is a bravery in her eyes, she is not a coward, in fact the honest look of fearlessness, is intimidating, I almost wish I could be that brave, that fearless.

She opens the book and sticks it in my face, and I stare at it, the page, and on it, the word wolf is printed in big letters, and there are sketches around the word, of two wolves, one with golden eyes, and I blink, hard, sucking in my breath, and looking away, my hand going and rubbing my temples, eventually I speak,

"I'm not… Merlin… I don't believe in these kinds of things,"

She nods, and her eyes hold something I don't understand, and then she whispers, so very soft, I can hardly hear,

"Thank you James Sirius Potter…"

And she brushes by me and I stop her, with my voice,

"For what? I haven't done anything worth thanking…"

And she turns and walks towards me, and she smiles softly, eyes finding mine, and I feel a connection, strong, powerful, she seems to supply me with power, and I like it, the power in my veins, in my heart, running in my blood.

And then she takes her hand, and reaches up, lingering over my face, and over one of the bruises left by Thomas, and then she smiles, big, a little too bright, and responds,

"Thank you for saving me, even if you don't know it Potter, things you say they impact people, they keep people going, especially in the dark…"

She is wise, she fits her Ravenclaw profile. But I feel my guard, like ice, building around me, and she seems to notice it, and then Lily bursts into the room, her hair fiery,

"Rose, you must be Rose, breakfast is ready-"

She stops green eyes looking at us, centimetres apart, Rose's hand hovering over my face, the way I am looking at her, and Rose jumps away, stumbling back and clearing her throat, hands buried in her hair, running through it, and I step back, hands finding my pockets, and wink at Lily.

Lil watches us, her eyes big, and she bites her lip, and then grins, laughing, eyes dancing, and runs at me, and I pick her up, turning her around in the air, and then placing her on my shoulders, her hair tickling my head softly, and she grins down at me, winking over and over, eyes big,

"Jay, whatever are you doing here?"

I laugh, and reach up, tickling her sides, and she cackles, and Rose watches, eyes big and dangerously exposed, and she turns around and grabs a hair tie, pulling her freshly washed and blow dried hair away from her face.

"I'm visiting my friend, Rose, here,"

I gesture to her and swing Lily down and straighten her little red Christmas sweater dress, and crouch down before her, eyes smiling at her, and those green eyes watch back at me, and there is a happiness in them, when Lily is happy aren't we all? Growing up we all cried when she cried, and laughed when she laughed, and smiled when she smiled, she was like that, contagious.

I take my strong arms and turn her slowly until she faces Rose, who glances at me first, eyes trying to tell me to save the situation, but my eyes, they laugh at her, mocking her sudden state of fear, and then her eyes find Lil's,

And I stand, and walk over to Rose, swinging a heavy armover her shoulder, she attempts to shrug it off, eyes shooting lightning at me, her lips prused and her eyebrows arched in a liquid, addicting anger.

And then I turn her to lily, my hands making her stand straight, and when I speak again, both pairs of brilliant eyes are focused on me, both of people I hate to admit, but do hold close to my heart.

"Lily I would like to introduce you to one of the most extraordinary woman I have ever met, Rose Nadia BlackThorne,"

I feel Rose stop struggling to shrug my shoulder off, and those brilliant eyes find mine, and I look at her, and then she leans slightly into me, and I see her red lips tilt up at the sides, and those green stormy eyes become clear, and she ducks her head, and looks at Lily. And so do I,

Lily does not watch Rose but me, the smile that dashes onto my lips, that crosses my eyes, and clouds them with a dream like oblivion, or so her little love oriented mind must be thinking. And I watch Rose extend her hand, her wrist delicate, the skin unmarked, soft blue sleeves floating around the skin, and a brilliant smile flashes onto those kissable lips.

Her voice sounds like an angel, and I feel as if I could watch her speak all day, the way her lips move, and I swallow and tare my eyes away, following down her slender wrist to her long fingers, musician fingers, and curved nails, no longer caked with blood like when she first arrived,

"You must be Lily Luna Potter; I wish I heard more about you, but from those eyes,"

She steps away from me, and my arm drops to my side, the sense of rejection causes a fire to want to see those eyes on me again to burn through me,

She crouches down, and takes both of Lily's small hands, and tilts her head to the side, and she whispers, her words soft, delicate, reassuring, sisterly,

"In those eyes Lily I can see a kindness and a happiness that makes you far more extraordinary than me…"

Lily giggles and pulls her hands away, taking one of Roses' in hers and shaking it, up and down, and up and down, her voice is soft as she leans closer and she whispers to Rose,

"Isn't my brother Jay the most annoying person you've ever met?"

Rose laughs, and whispers back, her voice just loud enough so I can hear it, and I do, I listen to it, and chuckle, Rose murmurs, voice light,

"I have never met such a vile creature, whatever shall we do? Half the time I'm worried about his mental health, and the other half I'm worried how he'll effect my mental health,"

Lily cracks up, and nods continuously,

"Yeah no kidding, and he never stops smirking, not even at home…"

Rose nods, eyes wide, I admire the curve of her back as she crouches there, on her knees, but shake the thought off, still listening to her words,

"I hate that smirk, one day I'll wipe it clean off his face,"

I roll my eyes at that, and crouch down between them, placing my hands on top of their, and whisper, my voice laid heavily with sarcasm,

 _"Yeah isn't he the worst, merlin, I wish he would just go die in a hole,"_

Rose rolls her eyes, and turns her head to meet mine, we are inches apart, and she whispers to me,

"Talking about yourself in the third person again Potter, or are you so self-involved it is simply impossible not to?"

I grin at her, and throw her a quick, smooth wink, and before noticing her response stand, dragging them with me, and taking both of my hands, I yank on each of their hairs,

"Why don't we go eat breakfast before I keel over, so I can deprive of the satisfaction of seeing my lifeless form,"

I turn and open the door, gesturing, with a fake courteous bow,

"Coming?"

Lily nods and jumps onto my back, and Rose sucks in a breath, her tongue hissing between her lips, as she gives me a 'really James how immature can you be?' look. Which by now, and the many times I have seen such a look, should be called a classic.

I turn to Lily, looking up at her, above me,

"Is breakfast ready, I'm starved-"

She giggles and hits me over the head, her hands tiny,

"You're always hungry"

And then her eyes go to Rose, who is slowly inching towards the door, eyes squeezed shut, but Lily stops her,

"Do you not like breakfast Rose?"

Rose clears her throat, and glances at me, eyes wide, her cheeks are flushed, she's acting as if we were caught robbing someone's house, or a mansion, or god knows, and she laughs, nervous, her hands scratching at the back of her neck, not yet over the previous event of being caught so close, she clears her throat and answer Lil's question,

"Umm, I don't normally have time to eat in the morning; I study in the morning, with V,"

Lily gags, and swings down from my shoulders and grins up at her,

"Who studies in the morning, or ever?! Eww, James always says we are either naturally brilliant or just stupid, no in between,"

I grin at that, and ruffle Lil's hair, I can't help but feel a little proud, it is one of my better quotes, and I watch Rose arch a brow, and I run a hand through my black locks, making my eyes hazy with confidence, she notices the sudden change in personality and rolls her eyes, her voice like glass, with an edge of rustic flame,

"And which are you Potter, an idiot, or brilliant?"

I grin at her, an eye winking, for, I admit perhaps the eighth time this morning, we are back to bantering, whatever happened back there, with the thank you, stays at the back of my mind, ignored, and I think for her too, perhaps because Lily's eyes are inquisitive, and far too interested. I answer,

"Neither, I'm the third party, of a superior beauty "

Her eyes are rolling again, and I chuckle to myself, I may be on eight winks but she has defiantly passed twenty eye rolls, and she slips out the door, down the stairs. And I follow her, through the corridors, where we meet up with a sleep ridden V who attacks Rose with kisses and hugs, who Rose pushes off, laughing, on the second floor we see Dom, Rox and Lucy admiring a Christmas tree, that rises higher and higher, scraping the ceiling, it shines with a glory nothing can match, ornaments of every colour, and lights, candles hanging in the air around it, little fairies holding bells, that ring synchronized, and incredible.

And I hear a gasp, and I turn, and there she is. My previous statement of her angelic form, hits me again, her lips, rosy pink are parted, white teeth shining from behind it, and though her figure is admirable, it is her eyes, that capture me every time, they hold a wonder, a wonder for living that I often see in the mirror when I look back at myself. Perhaps she does not know the beauty in her eyes; perhaps she is blind to it. But I admire it, all of it.

Albus' voice breaks my concentration, loud, booming and happy, which is rarer than you'd think, familiar in my ears,

"Jamie I've been looking for you bloody everywhere, mate, were supposed to have a Quidditch game in half an hour, me and you against the rest of this lousy lot, remember?"

I tare my eyes from Rose's form and look to him, and grin, wide, teeth shining,

"Hell yeah, you think I would forget about the Christmas highlight?"

Al loups up the stairs, steps long, running up the grand stair case, and grabbing my arm, grinning at me,

"Yeah right, James Potter caring about something? How dare?"

I laugh and hit him over the head, and I feel her eyes on me, she is watching us, smiling softly, and I stop laughing and grab onto Al, turning him to face Rose,

"Albus, I'd like to introduce you to someone unforgettable,"

He glances at me, eyes confused, and his breath catches as he sees her, and he looks at me, eyes full of a wonder I have never seen him have before, and he goes up to her and grabs her hand, and puts it in his,

"You must be the girl James keeps talking about,"

Rose glances at me, slightly confused, but smiles softly, and shakes his hand,

"Albus Potter, a pleasure, and I'm-"

I break her off, wrapping a hand around Al's shoulders and leaning over his arm to raise my eyebrows at her,

"And she's a Rose BlackThorne, incredible, sarcastic and a little crazy,"

She looks at me; her eyes ask me why, why I am suddenly there, here, by her, acting as if I know her, and the answer is simple, I have one wish, the wish that I want to get to know her… But she can't know that because there are things I need to take care of first, before, before any of that. I need to say goodbye to Sheila, I need to explain to my family how I want nothing to do with… With any of it…

Albus turns to look at me, with a face of 'really James, you're going all in?"

My eyes dance, and he chuckles softly, his voice kind and a little entertained when he speaks again,

"Well incredible, sarcastic, and a little crazy Rose, it's an honour to meet you, do you also have a description for yourself ready to hand out when meeting someone new?"

She laughs, and let's go of his hand, shaking her head,

"No, except being ordinary isn't bad, and don't listen to a foolish boy who has no idea who he is, let alone me,"

Her words are wise, and her voice soft, she tips her head softly, and her eyes shine with an honesty, and I watch it surprise Albus, he did not expect her to be so real, so concrete, and she turns, and casts a glance over her shoulder at me, long, hair slipping over her shoulder, and we watch each other, and then she keeps going, and I feel it, a feeling, I can't describe, no I refuse to. Because then it means I care, and that scares me, hell it terrifies me, not that she'll ever know.

And I watch her walk away, Lil tugs on my hand, but I don't look at her, my eyes are all on her, and Al says something, but I don't hear, or perhaps I choose not to hear, I watch her eyes leave mine, and I can hear the air whisper from between her lips, and I see it again, the meadow, the wolves, she was mine there, or perhaps we were each other's, and that moment, the moment in future, it opened my eyes, or maybe my eyes were open and I was just not looking where I should be, she turns away, looking down, eye lashes brushing her cheeks, and I watch as if stunned as if a bullet had hit me, is hitting me.

"James?"

I glance at Fred, when did Fred show up again? Hugo hops down the stairs behind him trails a Rose Weasley, it bothers me, somehow, that their names are the same, and I glare at her, Rose, who glances at me, and sighs, grumbling,

"Someone is still an overprotective evil human being,"

And I scoff and glance back at Fred, Albus, watching me, head tilted, I reply to their wanting eyes,

"Yes?"

And then it goes by, the conversation, the breakfast, Rose and the girls are absent from the long oak slab table, and the game, me and Al are winning, flying, high in the air, we can see the whole world down below. Al's voice breaks in, breathless, leaning over, they all zoom by down below, and Al casually blocks a quaffles, throwing it back, and scoring,

"James, who is she to you?"

I don't look at him, and I sigh, the wind plays with my hair, with my heart, and I answer his question with a question,

"Who is Malfoy to you?"

He sighs, mirroring my action, and glances at me, green eyes intelligent, honest, guarded,

"It's complicated,"

I nod, and murmur,

"Same,"

And then I am diving, the wind in my hair, and I can feel their eyes, my father's eyes, my mother next to him, Aunt Hermione, Ron, Teddy, Nana Weasley, Bill, Fleur, all of them, George, Lily, and they watch me zoom through the air, straight down, a 180 degrees angle, and no one can ever understand the feeling of falling, of losing control, and dropping like a feather, head first, the floor flying at me, at you. I can see the green grass, dew particles clinging to each strand, and it is feet away, seconds away, and there, an inch above it is the snitch, golden, and I grin, boom.

My hand is closed in a fist, and I can feel the flutter of its heart beat, my father's golden snitch, we only play using it on holidays, and I stare at it, as the ground flies towards me, it is golden and in it I see my reflection, my eyes have their own heartbeat, it has a rhythm that no one will ever understand, because I don't understand it, and my father s voice rings out,

"JAMES SIRIUS POTTER PULL THE BLOODY BROOM UP!"

And I tilt my head, and smirk, watching the historical snitch shine back at me. It was destroyed when they found the horcruxes, but my father collected the pieces and salvaged it as best as he could.

And the ground, my hand feels the soft grass, delicately, lightly dust my skin,

And then I let go of the broom, and I whisper the spell softly, and suddenly I am floating in the air, suspended, for just a moment, as my other hand reaches for the broom spinning it skilfully, and taking the force and momentum it has built up and spinning it towards the stars, and I tilt my head back, and grin at the sky, eyes closing, feeling the sunlight, and then my leg is over the broom, my foot hitting the ground, boom, and I am soaring towards the sky, my fist raised, the golden snitch caught between my fingers, shining, and fluttering desperately.

And I can hear them laugh, but I don't care. Their laughter is only fuel, and the game is won in the soft, dangerous motion. And of course Al and I won, were good at what we do? Why, because were Potters, and it is simply what we do.

The day passes by, I spend most of it with Al, fencing in one of the big rooms on the third floor, me and my friends raiding the attic, Fred and I jumping off of the cliff, and summoning our brooms as we fall. I love falling. That satisfaction of freedom, of death, both just flashing by your eyes, and you lose control. In fact control becomes pointless.

I stand in the corner, leaning against the wall, boyish grin planted on my face, I think about her, showing up on my front door step and the smile grows larger, but the clank of dishes breaks me from my chain of thought, and I peer into the room, becoming aware of my surroundings.

My mom's baking wafts through the air, and I follow it to the kitchen, glancing at her as I go the fridge, opening it and pondering how hungry I am, how important food is, how incredible pizza is, and who invented pizza, and bacon, but I'd have to cook the bacon. I don't want to have to cook, I groan and slam it shut, walking over to the stove and peering over my mom's shoulder, and then quickly dipping my finger into the soup and licking it clean, she hits me on top of the head, and turns laughing at me, eyes angry, and kind, all at the same time if that's possible,

And I raise my hands in defence, grinning and slowly walking backwards, she huffs and gives the soup another stir, and as I go to sneak away she stops me, her words do, soft, her voice is kind, but it also has an edge, like you better answer or you will regret not answering- kind of tone. It is a question she asks, and I dreaded when she would ask it,

"James, who is she?"

I cringe and stop, taking on a casual stance, but eyes squeezed shut, answering,

"What do you mean, V and Dom talk about her all the time,"

She clears her throat, resting down the spoon, and puts a hand on her hip,

"I meant who is she to you,"

I nod slowly, and lick my lips and scrunch my eyebrows together and turn to face her,

"A classmate, and a divination partner,"

She nods slowly, but her eyes dance, with the same flames that my eyes dance with,

"James, you don't have friends that are girls,"

I scoff and roll my shoulders back, my voice defensive,

"Yes I do, V, Dom, Rox, Lucy, Rose W."

She shakes her head, a small smile on her face,

"You are related to all of them…"

I sigh and run a hand over my face and then I turn to go, but she stops me again,

"Fine if you won't answer that then tell me why her shoes left blood stains on our front steps,"

I wince and then turn to her, clasping my hands together in front of me,

"I'll go clean that up now, then…."

She hisses,

"Nuhuh, you sit down right here and tell me where her shirt went, did it just magically slip off as you were walking her to the door?"

I laugh softly and then shake my head,

"She is a mysterious woman ma; I don't know half the things she does,"

She watches me and then scrunches up her eyebrows,

"Huh, you're telling the truth, so you don't know; perhaps you two aren't as close as I thought…"

I wince again and murmur,

"I wish"

Under my breath, and then she gestures to the seat and reluctantly I sit, and sigh, propping my head on the table, closing my eyes, as she goes on,

"Then explain her hair, it had literally pieces of garbage in it, that's not normal, what did you throw her in a garbage can while you were at it?"

I peek one of my eyes open, and glare at her, and then close it again, and murmur in response,

"Nope, though I considered it,"

Mom rolls her eyes, and sighs, poking my arm,

"James, since when do you invite people over without telling me in advance, I didn't even have a bed ready,"

I sigh and then open my eyes and stare at her, making my eyes big,

"I enjoy the element of surprise,"

She glares at me, pestering me with her words,

"What about her poor owl, it looked like it froze overnight,"

I nod solemnly,

"Perhaps it did,"

She narrows her eyes and her voice becomes slightly exasperated,

"Seriously James, she had blood on her jacket, is she okay?"

I wonder, sitting her if she is, there was a distant look in her eyes, and she did not laugh when I spoke, not like she normally does, her eyes were tired, and she looked almost as if she was happy to be alive.

My mom snaps her fingers in front of my face,

"James, are you even listening to me?"

I try to look serious, but the sarcasm drips from each letter I speak,

"Of course mum, what else would I be doing?"

She watches me intently, and then sits back, crossing her arms over her chest,

"James she smelled like the Thames, that's on the bad side of town,"

I feel my jaw tick, and I stand, the chair pushing back slightly,

"Since when do we judge people for where they live or sleep, are we not the ones that should be above that?"

She nods, but her eyes do not waver,

"She has kind eyes, and a kind heart too, and I trust her, I just, I want to be there for you, sometimes,"

I feel a slight guilt wash over me and I step forward and pull her close, and her arms wrap around me and I whisper softly, voice full of laughter,

"Mum your rolls are burning,"

And she shrieks and runs to the stove and I laugh and walk out of the room, and she screams after me,

"No they aren't you pumpkin pasty!"

And I laugh again, and leave the kitchen behind, my stomach still rumbling. But as I walk away I consider her words. Where had Rose been, she looked as if she was a corpse walking, and the thoughts from earlier, how she reminded me of their transparent skin, are resurfaced. But I shake my head and keep walking, away from the kitchen and towards the next obstacle. Saying goodbye as politely as possible.

I told her to meet me in Diagon alley so here we are. She stands across from me, eyes wary. I didn't greet her with a kiss. She licks her lips; her brown eyes are cast down. And she clears her throat, I open my mouth to speak, but she reaches up and covers it, Sheila's voice is firm when she speaks, which surprises me,

"No James, it's my turn to say something…"

I watch her and nod, respectfully,

"Yes? What do you have to say?"

Her eyes are filled with tears, as if they appeared in just seconds, like a water faucet turned on, and she blinks slowly,

"You brought me here to break up with me,"

I feel my body stiffen, and I close my eyes, running a hand over my face, eyes squeezing closed, and in the darkness behind my lids my golden eyes see her, walking down the stair case, in the bed, beneath the stars. And my eyes spring open and I look at her. Really look at her, because I never have before.

I nod slowly, and step closer, but she shakes her head, and laughs, high, and I can hear an anger, writhing like a serpent in each breath, she sounds insane, or maybe desperate. Her head goes back and forth, over and over, and her breath is shaky, as she speaks, her voice is broken, and I can hear a hatred, that cuts me like a knife,

"There you go again James doing whatever the hell you want with the people around you. When will you wake up-huh?"

I swallow, and tilt my head back, making sure my atoms apple rises and falls, Sheila always likes that, but her head is still shaking, and she looks at me as if I am despicable, and she chuckles, ducking her head, and sniffing, a she arches her eyebrow,

"You're blind… And I pity you… I pity you James…"

I open my mouth, to speak, to say something, though I'm not exactly sure what, at this point there is no saving, and I can feel the snow start to fall around us, white, beautiful, cascading until it lightly dusts us, and I watch it get caught on her eyelashes, on her fingers. And she goes on, stopping me from speaking, though I have nothing to say,

"You and your perfect world… Merlin, I should have dated the other brother, at least he has a heart…"

Ouch. Her words don't hurt, it's the tone, I can hear such a bitter hatred, such a bitter resentment, as if, as if she is breaking up with me, as if she finds me less than the gum beneath her shoe. But her words do ring in my ears. Albus. She's saying Albus is better than me, and I couldn't agree more. He is hell everyone is.

She reaches up a hand and wipes away a silver tear, and in it, that little droplet of liquid, I see her smile, Sheila's smile, curved up this summer. Her hands in my hair, and her lips by my ear, and I can hear her, even now, standing here, before her like this, I can hear her whisper _, "I love you to the sea and back again James, I always will, do you love me, James, do you?"_

And I feel myself shake my head, and she watches the movement, my far away gaze, my unfeeling eyes, hiding the small amount of hurt she has caused, but I can control the damage of hatred. Because she doesn't hate me, she loves me, she just is hurt, that's all James. And the more I repeat it, the safer I am.

She steps closer, and takes my hands, both of them, and she brings both of them to her lips, and her eyes close, and the tears are hot down her cheeks.

"You are blind James, how can you be so blind?"

I keep shaking my head, and lean down, bending to where she stands, and our eyes are levelled. And I can see a regret of something she is going to do brewing in them, in her eyes, she is regretting what she is going to say next, and I wonder if I will regret it too.

"How am I blind? Tell me Sheila, how?"

She laughs, soft, but it breaks into a sob, and then she stops and sighs, loud. And looks at me, dead in the eye, and I can see a storm, a storm I have never seen before, and the shell, the empty girl that fell in love with me over night, is gone. And there is a woman, she is not beautiful, she is frightening, as if she owns all the power in the world, in just the words she can say, in just how she says them,

"James I don't love you…"

Boom.

And suddenly its spinning, the world, spinning on without me. And she is watching me, the way the walls that protect, the mask that hides slips, right off, and there is a hurt, like a scar, like a pounding, filling my senses. Why am I so upset? And her fingers slip from mine, but I grab at them.

I feel it hit me, each of her words like bullets, and I blink hard and look at the ground, and shake my head, love. The one thing no one ever said, mom stopped saying she loved me after first year, and dad the same. Lily sometimes said it as a joke, but they are family, they have to, they are supposed to. But no one who isn't supposed to, who I'm not related to, who I don't care about has said that. And Sheila did.

I remember the night,

There spells, of the death eater supporters, had been so advanced. I remember the pain of the cuts, inflicted by their wands, I remember being not able to stand, to breath, falling to the ground. I remember the sound of her heels, soft, and loud. I was desperate that she wouldn't see me, because then she would think I was weak, and I am not, not to them, not through the act.

But she had stooped down. And later, the next week when we went on our first date, I hadn't cared about her, but I was indebted. And she was empty, like the rest, but then she opened her god damn mouth and said those three words. _"I love you…."_ She had said those words, and then my name and I had felt something. Happiness, or maybe just a joy of being wanted, of being appreciated, of being seen. For once she cared, someone did,

But now, standing across from her, my hands are shaking, and I feel them form fists. She let go, fingers slipping over skin, and her eyes are closed, and when they open there is a regret I saw minutes ago, but there is also a new freedom. And she keeps going, seeing the weakness, the way it affects, and destroys. And she goes on, tears slipping down her cheeks, like the memories we had,

"I never have, in fact that night, I didn't save you James, you were delirious, but not wounded that badly, you wouldn't have died, but I lied about that,"

And I am shaking, my breath caught, her voice has a malice, as if she enjoys it,

"Because I wanted you to think you had some sort of debt, so you would stay with me, and date me, but I didn't love you… I lied, over and over, and you,"

She laughs, long, her face, the person before me is not the person I know, and I do not care about her, Sheila, I never have, in fact she was tiresome, annoying, like an article of clothing you get bored of wearing, but at first you like trying it on and dancing around in it in front of the mirror. That makes me a bad person. I know. But I liked, no, I enjoyed the feeling of her love, because no matter what I did, no matter how I screwed up, no matter how much I ignored her, she would still say those three words at the end of the day. Stupid James. Stupid, stupid. And I can see the memories again, the way her voice lacked soul, the way her eyes never met mine, but those words, they were all that mattered.

 _I just wanted to be loved. For once, without judgement on what or who I am, unconditionally, and completely, appreciated, recognised, no matter what._

She steps closer and grabs hold of my chin, her fingers are cold, I have never hated the cold this much before.

"And you, you liked the attention, like a child you pitifully craved for it, you think I did not notice it, the way you loved it."

Why are the eyes not here? Why is the mask gone, why can I not hear my heart beat. But she saved me? Didn't she? Didn't she?

Her head is shaking, and she laughs, again and again. And then stops, abruptly.

"And there were times, James, where I could have grown to love you, I admit you are beautiful, perfect, anyone, right, anyone would be lucky to have you?"

She sighs, and closes her eyes, I have nothing to say, I want to hide, behind my skin, my flesh, the smirk, the smile, but it's gone, I came here to be polite, to take her to a nice café, and explain that I need a break emotionally, that she was great, and perfect, and incredible, and that I didn't deserve her. But how did this happen? Then again all the things I wanted to say are lies as well, so what differences does it make?

She leans closer and whispers, her breath tastes like mint,

"I guess I ran out of luck…"

She sighs, and wipes away the tears that fall, slowly,

"If you have any decency in that disgusting body of yours, you'll tell everyone it was a mutual agreement, not a break up, we just needed a break from each other, until further notice kind of thing…"

And she turns to leave but I grab onto her hand, and when I speak, I surprise myself with my voice, it sounds angry, in fact it sounds past that, it sounds as if it is full of the same hate she was just directing towards me,

"You filthy liar-"

Her hand comes up, and grasps my chin, but I tare it out of her grasp, and turn away, a anger seems to coil in me, a hatred I don't understand. And I want her to pay. For what though? It's my fault, and that fact hurts the most. And she is shaking her head again, and the tears have stopped, and her eyes are red, her nose is rosy, and she has a glassy, shocked kind of look. And she leans closer, and smiles, large, her teeth are not white, in fact nothing about her reminds me of perfect. Her voice hurts, like a whip,

"Yes. That's right I lied… And there were moments, moments when I regretted it, but for once people noticed me, for once, they said that she is the real one, that she spent the summer with the Potters, that he has never taken a girl home before…."

I turn away and run a hand through my hair, and I can feel her hands on my arm, turning me. And she leans closer, we are opposites, and yet now we are the same, we both used each other for the eyes, the crowd. And I can feel it, a pity, because every time they get blamed, but she is blaming me. She is flawed; she is a liar, a horrible twisted woman, with a pretty face. Nothing more. Nothing less. And yet what am I but that? Flawed, a liar, a horrible twisted man, with a pretty face,

I lean closer and our foreheads connect, her skin is like ice, like hell. But for once I stop pretending, and the three words I say are powerful, and my voice is soft, and I don't need to make it soft, because it already is. And I can feel it, the pain, of not being wanted, I had forgotten what that pain had felt like. And I feel the air hiss between my teeth, and her eyes watch mine, brown on brown, light on light. And I whisper, my voice it holds the demons, the pain.

"I am sorry…"

She nods slowly, and wraps her arms around me, but neither of us lean into each other, we just stand close, and this is a goodbye. And when I should be feeling free, because the empty shell is gone, instead there is a horror, because the empty shell had feelings. And those feelings, one feeling a hatred stands out.

And she steps back, and so do I. And we watch each other. And she speaks, again,

"I hated you from the first time you pretended to laugh…. On our first date…"

I swallow hard, and watch her, she smiles softly, and then laughs, it sounds cruel, rude, like a whip, hitting over and over. Not that she or anyone needs to know.

"I hated the way you kissed me in public, the way you only smiled and talked to me when they were watching…"

I can see it, the memories, floating past us, past everything, and it scares me. Because I had hated those moments too. Perhaps more than she did. Her voice is distant, and her laughter, hysterics hasn't stopped,

"Look at that, James Potter is shocked, you thought you would come today, and say I was too good for you, and still get my love. But instead you realise what love would you be getting?"

She steps closer, and she leans up and kisses me. It is a goodbye, it is soft, her lips are cold too, and so is the snow that falls, thick, blinding me, clutching onto my eyelashes and skin. And she steps back, and I watch a single tear slip down her cheek, and in it I can see that night, the blood, I had thought she was crying, I was sure she was, but she was laughing, her smile big. And yet now, I pity her, because perhaps she got it, the crowd more than I thought. A plastic girl, with everything perfect, I think I thought she had no heart, because I owned it. Wrong James, you weak fool. Wrong.

She doesn't wipe away the tear and lets it fall, and then she whispers, softly,

"No one will ever love you James, no one ever could because you don't know what love is, and you don't have a heart to care. So enjoy your empty life, without me. Not that with or without me will make any difference to you, it's all the same right?"

I feel my eyes close, and I can hear her footsteps leaving me behind, and I do not call out to her, I do not tell her to wait, instead I watch her leave… My eyes opening, the snow is white, and I watch it fall towards the ground, and hit it. And I sigh, eyes closing, again and again her words echo, _"No one will ever love you James,"_

Is she right? No. The answer is plain, I am smart enough to know she is wrong about that, but without her love, without the thought that someone, somewhere had loved me, truly. For me, or for the image, whichever it may be. It had made me strong, it had made me real. Lies. Not dead, and I swallow hard. And turn on my heels, disappearing into a cloud of smoke, spinning through the air as I leave behind the alley way and head for the ministry.

I hit the ground. And I look around, this room, I've trained here since I was a child, the first time I stepped in this room was when I was seven. My father had placed the wand in my hand and said, and I will always remember what he said, his words strong,

 _"It is not the wand that makes the wizard, but the magic in your veins that makes you unstoppable,"_

 _I take a deep breath, wand clutched between my fingers, and whisper,_

 _"I am unstoppable"_

And then I am turning through the air, landing on both feet planted, my stance aggressive, and I imagine them, eyes closing, millions, thousands, surrounding me, I create the image in my mind, there is an alley way, dark, they are coming for me, to kill me, so I must get them first, there are 4 on each side, they are dressed all in black, their eyes are red, there skin transparent, and in it I see memories, my memories.

And I count with their steps,

One

"I don't love you James,"

Two,

"You've done more than enough, for everyone, but yourself, but you James,"

Three,

"Do you believe in fate?"

No. I don't. Boom. I'm moving, my feet scrape the ground, the wand flicks, the magic courses through my veins, and my voice cries out in my mind, as the spell, with the thought in command, slips from the wand, sparks fly, and the thought, my voice, one,

"Asciendo,"

He is in the air, I slash my wand through the air, like a knife, and turn it in my hand, so the spell slips right past me, whispering an inch over my skin, and hitting the man behind me,

"Antonin Dolohov,"

Blood, thick spills onto the cobblestones, and the man falls and I feel myself jump, high in the air, and when I land my feet dig into his flesh, pinning him onto the ground, my eyes are closed, and I am grinning, as if drunk on adrenaline, and I turn, and my eyes open, and I can see them cowering, and I wink, slow, my tongue dashing over my teeth,

And I yell my wand directed to the walls, watching the destruction and chaos crash around me,

"Confringo"

And the walls explode, flames licking at the brick and I watch the walls crack and collapse on top of them and I repeat the spell, bouncing it off of the corpse beneath my feet, the flames engulf, and I can hear screams. Each spell is said in my mind, a command, I remember the first time I learned that we didn't have to say the spells out loud. That we could just wish it, and it would happen, the power of magic, the power of the thought.

And they are begging, there skin a flame, burning, the cloth ripping, flesh dripping, and it is disgusting, horrifying, but the adrenaline, sings. The flames are blue, licking at their faces, their clothes turning to ash, hair burning.

And I can feel someone's hands grab me from behind, they are a man's, his wand held to my temple, and I laugh, high, and flick my wand from behind, holding it at his heart, hand twisted behind me, and my leg comes up, kicking him square in the chest, he falls onto the ground, the blood splashes onto my lack boots, and the spells he says I deflect, easily, and I stroll towards him, head tilted to the side. And I raise my wand, and open my mouth. But a voice stops me, feminine, familiar,

"James, that's a little extreme, don't you think? He has a family, a life,"

I open my eyes and look around. The room is large, the walls are all glass, and pillars line the entrances, and there, sitting at the bottom of the grand stair case is Hermione Granger Weasley.

I sigh, and wince, I can feel the sweat dripping down my back, and run a hand over my neck, and look down at my wand, clutched in my fist, and relax my grip, and smile at her, and nod softly. She watches me, her eyes are intelligent. In fact she is known worldwide for her brain, and I wonder how did she know that the imaginary attacker was a man, or that I was going to whisper one of the curses that only is known in my family.

She is beautiful, though now has wrinkles, her hair long behind her, high on her head, in a curly pony tail. She wears a dress suit, heels making her almost my height. Her wand is held casually in one of her hands, and dark robes drift around her sitting form.

She pats the stair next to her, and gestures for me to come and sit. I nod slowly, and I do, running a hand through my hair.

She smiles, and her eyes crinkle. And she watches me, curious, but kind. She does not know me that well, but her eyes say otherwise. Her voice is strong, it always has been, opinionated; her personality is strong as well. Sometimes I wonder how Ron handles her.

She arches her brow,

"James, what are you doing her? Aren't you supposed to be shopping in Diagon Alley with the rest?"

I nod and chuckle softly,

"I already have all my Christmas presents prepared. So it's okay…"

She scoots closer, and she motherly, takes one of my hands and squeezes it,

"You don't come here when you are okay… No one does…"

I nod, and pause, and then look at her, she looks warned out, but her kindness, and happiness is still there,

"Your right, and yet here we are…"

She nods and sighs, letting go of my hand, and turning to face me, as she stands,

"James your form was good. In fact at your age I tried to master spells that you can do without a second thought, and I wasn't able to…"

I smile, and she laughs, softly, eyes worried, but she hides it well.

"But when I was your age I was still shopping in Diagon Alley with my friends."

I stand, and look around the grand room, and I swallow hard, and turn to face her,

"But my dad was already saving the world, he raised Voldemort when he was my age, he went through the Triwizard Tournament and won… He witnessed someone die because of him, he was no child…"

She nods, and steps forward and looks at me, with the heels we are almost the same height, but her personality, her brilliance, that craving for knowledge I can see hidden in her eyes, makes her taller than I could ever be. People say she should have married my father, which she should have been in Ravenclaw that she is filth because of her blood birth, and yet she is better than I could ever be. Her voice is quiet as she speaks,

"True… But do you want to witness someone die, do you want to save the world? Harry had no option, and being there for him, having to be there and watch it destroy him, when he had no choice, is cruelty."

She is wise, she is brilliant. But she is wrong. Or maybe she is right, why am I in here, fighting of imaginary demons, when I could be out there, with Rose, with Albus, with Lily on my shoulder.

She watches my eyes become far away, and she squeezes both of my hands again, letting go of one to ruffle my hair,

"James live it a little, its Christmas, take a break, you don't need to be perfect, in fact imperfection is preferred."

I watch her, she is strong because of what she has gone through, and I look down at her arm, and I look at the scar, there carved is the word 'mudblood' and I feel bile rise in my throat. It disgusts me, often I forget how much my family has seen, and I wonder how they sleep at night. Do they not see the faces of the people they killed, the people they could have stopped from dying? How do they live with themselves? But something in her eyes tells me that ignorance is bliss, for us both. And she follows my gaze, and let's go of my hands, and runs her fingers over the scar, over each dip and curve.

I swallow slow, and ask quietly,

"Why didn't you have it removed?"

She smiles, her eyes hold a haunted look,

"Because it is me… That word is me… We cannot give them the power to destroy us; we cannot give simple words the power to control us…"

My eyes hold confusion and I watch her recognise it, and she continues,

"Mudblood. I used to fear that term, because I let it get to me. But they are right, I am of muggle birth, and if they want to call me that I cannot stop them, but I am proud, of who I am, whatever they call me, it's just words, just nonsense."

I look at her in awe, and she smiles softly. And I ask her, my voice quiet,

"Did it hurt?"

She gives me a very aunt look, as if that is a way too out of line question and then laughs, which surprises me,

"No. It hurt mentally and emotionally but physically it wasn't that bad."

She pauses, and laughs again,

"It hurts you in a way people can't see, unless they know you well…"

I look down, at my wand, at the dusting of snow on my shoes, no blood. And she watches me. And then she whispers softly,

"You are brave James, don't second guess yourself. You are braver than I was at your age, because I didn't question it, the three of us, Harry, Ron, me, we did what we thought was right without considering, without thinking…"

I look at her, and her eyes smile at me, and she takes her wand, and points it at where I was pointing before, and looks at me, softly, and I watch her say the spell,

"Sectumsempra"

And I can close my eyes and see the man begin to bleed, the cuts becoming jagged, ripping his skin. And then she flicks her wand and whispers,

"Anicavia"

And the wounds close and heal, and he lays there, at her mercy. And I open my eyes and look at her, and she smiles, real, solid, familiar,

"Just because you have the power to stand above and cut them to pieces doesn't mean you should…"

I nod, lost in her words, in thought, it is almost weird, how much she reminds me of Rose, and turn to leave but she calls, out, eyes observant,

"Oh and Jay, you have to introduce me to your new friend, Rose, was it?"

I nod again, it is as if she could read my mind, and saw what I was thinking, who I was thinking of, but something in her eyes, as she says those words, a knowing haunted look makes me stop and I step towards her,

"Yes I do… Have you heard of her?"

She looks at me, and she smiles, but the smile is full of holes, and she nods many times,

"No… But V talks about her friends quite a bit, she really likes her, she says their sisters, perhaps I should get ready for the adoption papers,"

She is joking and I laugh with her, but my words are eerie in the still. And that was the first time I thought of it, the possibility, the small chance of the small chances that Rose was not the Rose I thought of. And my words, they opened a door to discovery; I almost wish I had said nothing. But I do, my voice soft, melodic, beautiful, heavy with interest, it was supposed to be a joke, and yet neither of us are laughing,

"No worry about that, Rose is no orphan…"

And she blinks the laughter stopping. And she nods slowly. And pushes me, assuring me out of the ministry and into Diagon Alley. And there, with the snow already forming inches on the ground, I watch Rose and all of them walk. And Rose turns back to me, her hair falling over her shoulder, and I watch her and my own words ring in my ears, over and over and for some reason they seem important. I just don't understand why, why are they important?

And I hear them, again and again, until it defines me, until it writes me a story I don't quite understand yet. Four words, when there should be three. Minus the no, and there is a truth. Not that I knew that at that moment. But I wish I did. So I whispered, as I watched, and she watched me, gesturing for me to join the group with her eyes. I murmur it, and I wonder.

"Rose is no orphan…."

And I say it as many times as I can, because I need to believe it, because my thoughts, of her blood stained figure remind me of a world I am trying to escape. Of memories that I hardly remember even now, of blood stains and pain. And her voice breaks in, her eyes breaking in as well, green like the ocean,

"What are you whispering Potter?"

I glance at her, and she watches me, and I watch her, and then she laughs, loud and clear, and hits me over the head, standing on her tip toes to reach it. I watch her almost is shock, and she blinks slow, and leans closer,

"Are you staring Potter, or are you just blind?"

I chuckle, softly, and turn my head away, and then I look back at her.

"I'm staring…"

She gasps, pretending to look shocked. And she studies my face, silently, and then tilts her head to the side, observing my every movement.

"What happened James, did someone say they hated you?"

Her voice is jokey but I wince at her words, and she sees the reaction and falls silent. And then she steps closer, so that our chests just touch,

"Then they are a fool James, because honest, you're not that bad,"

I feel my heart lighten, she is beautiful, she is brave, and she is here, here for me when I have never had the chance to be there for her.

"I'm not? Since when did you not hate me?"

She giggles, and backs up, extending her hand, and ignoring my question,

"Were stuck together James, fate will catch up with us at some point why resist?"

I look her up and down and mock her, my voice laughing,

"Who are you and what have you done to Rose BlackThorne?"

She turns her palm up, and raises an eyebrow,

"Why aren't you smiling James, its Christmas and you might get a little bit of Rose BlackThorne,"

I laugh and take her hand; it is warm, not cold like Sheila's was. And so we begin a new era in my life, a new journey, the beginning of a forever. And if only we knew how long our forever would be. And she leads me away, but watching us, from the ministries steps is Hermione Granger, and she watches me take her hand, and she tilts her head back, and swallows whatever monster is brewing. If only we knew what chaos was coming, and how to face the storm.


	19. Chaos has arrived from Peru

Chapter 19: Chaos has arrived from Peru

~ROSE POV~

History. I used to wonder what making it felt like. Now I no longer wonder, as I watch them, the ones written in history spin through their everyday lives, with smiles, and grim expressions, holding onto each other for support, for happiness, for air.

Family. I have never witnessed people who love each other unconditionally, I often sit and consider if I would love V or Scorp if they broke my heart, if they ruined me, if they hurt someone I cared about, I often wonder if I could love them through anything and just how strong the love I know is. But in these four walls love is the problem and the solution.

Happiness. I have never looked at happiness as more than an algebraic formula, I am happy if I let go of common sense, I am happy if I forget responsibility, but that is not happiness that is fear. And I have always wanted it, a way to calculate how to be happy, and books; as much as I have read there is no way to secure a happy life, without letting go. And I fear that more than fear itself, but not more than the claws in my flesh, the lung in her teeth, the skin transparent, for she was worse than fear itself.

"Common Black grow a spine!"

His voice is strong, it reminds me of freedom, uncaged, and maybe that is why I fear fate, because to me fate is him, and to me he is freedom, and to me freedom is happiness and to me happiness is a formula.

I shudder and roll my shoulders back and bite my lip, letting out a breath caught behind white teeth, rattling in the cold. His steps are heavier, he is walking closer, I can hear the crust of snow slipping beneath each heavy footstep. Dominant, and that make me dislike each footstep more, and the owner of the footsteps knows just how much him and his golden eyes annoy me.

His voice is like velvet, and I listen to the rise and fall of each letter, of each syllable,

"Alright Rose, on my count,"

I roll my head to the side, eyes closed shut, and the darkness of the closed lids does not intimidate me, instead I am nourished by it.

I am surrounded by snow, it falls softly, whispering onto my skin, melting to my touch, and my breath forms clouds of it, air, soft on my skin, murmuring against my cheeks, and there in my heart and singing in my veins is an adrenaline, running through me like a thoroughbred.

And my eyes are closed, shut, steadying the pounding of my pulse, the shaking of my hands, and I count with him, my breath is soft, my voice is just a quiet lull of a lullaby, forgotten, whispered into the wind of the cliff,

"Five,"

I open my eyes and look ahead of me, I can see the sea in the distance, and the horizon, shining with such beauty, golds and blues and silvers mixed in the endless grey sky. I can the see the sun, each ray of yellow is like a ray of happiness, and it beckons me, it beckons me to jump,

"Four,"

My hands turn to fists, my wand clasped in one, the wood is soft, the wood is home, I can feel the carved thorns on the wood digging into my flesh, and it fights the cold that slips into my skin, and through my blood like a disease,

"Three,"

I am walking, I start with walking but my steps turn into a jog, faster and faster, matching the beat of my heart, the beat of my pulse, boom, and boom, and so I am going at the speed of light, and then I am running, and I can see the edge, just a dare, in fact James told me not to do it, he told me that it felt like dying, and that I didn't need to know, I didn't need to know anything.

"Two,"

His voice shakes, he is watching me, watching me run, his eyes are golden like that sun, they are free like that sun, like the adrenaline in my veins so is his spirit, daring Rose, young Rose, happy Rose, not me, but who would know the difference? And I can hear V yelling, telling me to stop, in fact they are all telling me too, no one is laughing, but I don't. And I turn my head, hair flying in the wind, and our eyes connect.

And the moment stops, like the world stopped, and his lips curve into a smile, his breath stops shaking, his eyes are trustworthy, he trusts that I won't let myself give up, that I am smarter than that, and there is a communication, had his eyes leave mine and go to my wand. And there is a fire in his eyes, a dare in his eyes, he is daring me to trust him, and he doesn't think I can, and I can feel it, my heart fall, and my feet are slipping, the ice is heavy, the ice is thick.

And I let go, my wand thuds to the ground, the only security that I will be safe, the only security of freedom and I blink and I can see it, the meadow, there is a cliff and the wolves are not running with us, but he is, our hands interlocked and we turn on our heels and fall backwards, the wind rushing by as we cry out in joy, but he didn't let me reach the bottom, and I know he saw it, the connection, the happiness, he has seen it all before.

"One."

And I turn back, stopping, hesitating for just a mere second, the mere one, his voice is beautiful, and I can see the waves hitting the rocks at the bottom of the cliff, it seems like miles down, jagged, and the froth of the water is white, and my eyes are wide, the eyes of a wild animal, hesitate, consider, and there with one step away from falling, from jumping, from risking, I wonder, I wonder what love is? Is it jumping off of the cliff and free falling, or is it waiting for them to notice you, without doing anything, or is it both, or neither.

Golden eyes digging into mine, digging beneath mine, he is waiting, and so is my heart. And I can hear it, his heart beat, and I smile. Big. Because a forever is here, is the now, and if only jumping signified something more, than just falling, than just whispering by life.

I may not have tomorrow, or the day after, but I have now, and it scares me, forgetting to think before jumping, and that's what we are doing. The ice makes my feet slippery on the gravel, five, four, three, two, one, jump.

And I do. I am falling, and I can hear my scream torn from my lips, the wind silencing me, and I am crashing towards the ground at the speed of light, and I am crashing, no stopping, and no ending. The wind is cold, my breath is warm, my robes wrap around me, thrown in the cold, and I can feel the sea breeze, and I can feel the soft dew of the water crashing beneath me.

And I am trembling, am I happy? Falling, James said it would feel like dying, but I have never felt so alive, and I can't breathe, in fact I cannot remember anything, my mind is lost, and so is my memory. And then there are arms, strong, powerful, familiar, and I am laughing, they are pulling me up, wrapping around me, pulling me close and then closer, till there is no space and I lean into them.

There are tears on my face, frozen as they fall, frozen as they slip down my face, and I am looking up at him, and he grins, his eyes are tender, his eyes are soft, they hold it, love. For me? Or for falling? Or is it all just one in the same. Or is the mist of the ocean blinding me?

And I am pulled onto his broom, my legs slipping over his, but he keeps it steady, the world steady, and we are still falling, but I trust that he will pull up, that he won't let us fall forever, because there has to be an end of falling, and a forever after that, isn't that how it works? You give your heart away and there is no going back.

And his lips are next to my ear, breathe soft, breathe hot, and breathe real. And he whispers like the wind, like the end of everything and the beginning of everything, all at the same time,

"Come alive Rose, come alive with me…."

And the water brushes over our legs as we hit the surf, and then he is pulling us up, and there is suddenly another broom, and he is shifting me onto it, sending me a wink, and we are landing, and I can hear the laughter, and I can feel my friends hands around me, shrieking about how I am never reckless, how I shouldn't be reckless. But I cannot look at them, I can only see him.

And my legs are unsteady, and so I hit the ground, and I cannot laugh, but I am smiling. Wide, and happy because I am living.

We are all here. Hands intertwined, hair mixed together, eyes looking up at the snow, our breath making white clouds in the setting sun. Christmas Eve, I spent most of the days with the Potters hiding in the background, it was nice, for once to just observe it all. The way they smiled, the way they all seemed to glow with a joy that I can't quite understand.

I watched the Potters, and when I wasn't watching them I was writing about them, sitting in the quiet corners of rooms, where the shadows hide my face and watching their smiles and writing down every aspect of them. Because it was memories, that matter. The forgotten one, a nightmare I cannot face, so instead I start to cherish things, things I didn't cherish before my heart was almost ripped from my chest.

I cherish the way Dom's eyes shine, the way Roxy grins, her teeth a little uneven, the way Lucy seems to never stop giggling, no matter what time of day it is, the way V checks on me every now and then, with a smile, or a hand squeeze, a promise of always.

Then there is Albus, a man I study intensely, because I wonder how he trapped Scorpius' heart, and often those green eyes will find mine, and he will nod softly. Lily, she is so close to James, she seems to look up to him, even though he does not notice her eyes, always mirroring his actions, the way he grins, the way she grins as well, when he tilts her head, she does too. I am concerned that James might break that little heart of hers, but more so I am scared that he might break someone else's heart… Someone's heart that is also always watching….

I blink, and giggle at something Dom says, she squints at me, delicate eyes of chocolate dark blue in this lighting; I have noticed how often she has been squinting, how often she seems to be blinking hard. And standing there, next to her, with the snow falling around us, and the laughter of the adults and the clink of champagne glasses inside, I wish I had then known what was to come for her. What torturous fate was whispering at me, if I had thought it through, if I had payed a little more attention to her smile, to guiding her, to making that smile last a little longer, but we were all young fools, trying to impress, and I was so busy watching, and watching, being one pair of eyes in the crowd that looks on, too busy watching to realise I was becoming a part of the people watched.

"What?"

Dom giggles, and wraps her arms around me, and takes out her wand, flicking it loudly, and with a slow crackle some slow dance music begins to play and I laugh as she steps away and bows, long blonde hair skimming the ground,

"Dance with me crazy?"

Her question makes me smile and I take her hand, and we spin around and around, and around, our feet stumbling, and we step on each other's toes, Dom's shoes digging into mine, another hint I should have payed attention too, I should have noticed that she never stepped on my toes while dancing, never.

And V is grabbing me behind and pulling me along and I run after her, outside, running through the nice rooms, and into the snow, and we are suddenly making snow angels, the cold doesn't bother us, because we are young and the chaos is still in a letter coming across the Atlantic.

And then we are having a snowball fight, a blur of white, Roxy has the best aim, and I am on their team, and I can feel him targeting me, James, the snow balls hitting me over and over, and I am running, feet pounding, heart in my throat.

He is running after me, and there are eyes, they watch the way he chases me, the way his hands reach for me, and how I turn back, eyes dancing with his. He is something I want to cherish. Because death is knocking, and suddenly I am starting to realise that this forever he speaks of, not even a fraction of it may exist. So what am I waiting for? What are any of us waiting for? The right moment that may never come? Or this mystical dream that tomorrow will be better than today so let's give up today and try tomorrow, liars. Today is all we've got, and the scars are gone, and these people they have families, they are happy and if I can get even a fraction of that happiness I will be complete.

And then we are inside, hot coco clutched in our fists, our breath forming clouds of transparent smoke, eyes dripping with tears that are simply from the joy, the joy of living.

And there are tiny marshmallows, floating in the brown liquid, dusted with whip cream and cinnamon. And we are all dripping from the snow from outside, and then the boys are out with the girls dragging their feet behind, taking to the skies, playing tag on the brooms, hair streaming behind them. Then Lily is conducting a talent show, I watch the way she calls each person up, wearing a pair of her mom's heels, far too big on her, and one of James' suit jackets, the shoulders far too broad, and the coat pockets dusting the snowy ground. Well that thousand dollar suit is ruined, but still it is too endearing, too perfect, and James does tricks on his broom, and I am smiling before I can stop myself, before I can stop anything, those moments, of coco and shivering hands fly by.

And now we are here, Christmas Eve, all of us, Fred, John Prewett, the Lysanders, some friends that James has from Romania, the girls, Lily, Albus and a couple of his Slytherin friends, Rose Weasley and her friends, Hugo, me, and James Sirius Potter.

We all are lying on the ground, our stomachs full to the brim of bursting, and the snow falls around us, and the parents stand on a balcony high above us, laughing softly, murmuring about the past.

 _The past._ I close my eyes, the soft whispering of the snow on my skin, each little droplet kissing my skin, and I smile, the orphanage is not here, the forgotten are a world away, that foster family is miles a far, and I am safe. someone whispers my name, softly,

 _"Rose…"_

I turn my head slightly to the side, James stands in the shadows, his eyes beckoning me, and I glance around, the girls are occupied, but as I look at them Albus' eyes find mine, and he tilts his head, looking from James to me, and I see it, not jealousy, not anger, but something else, he knows, he knows that my heart belongs in part to another man with blue eyes, not fully, but enough for me to hesitate, and he shakes his head, slowly, back and forth, not a warning, but a reminder, and I tare my gaze away and stand, brushing the soft white substance from my pants.

He is right; my heart does belong in part to the Malfoy with white hair, and a rare smile. And I wonder how much Scorpius has told him about me, how much they talk about me, or not at all, and the second possibility scares me. But I have no responsibility to Scorpius, he does not own my heart, no one does; no one but me.

The living room is empty, it is one of the more homey rooms, it has quilts thrown everywhere, and Lily's dress ups in mounds in the corners. The coffee table is covered in family projects, and the ground is strewn with poison ingredients that smell faintly of baking spice and barf.

James stands in the corner, and extends his hand, palm up; his voice is musical, like everything, which scares me.

And I watch his palm, the way the skin looks so soft, and yet so desirable, and then I find his eyes, they are swirling gold, and I am lost in them, the hazel gaze is heavy, as if it can either drown me or teach me how to swim.

I step forward, softly, and take his hand, the movement slow. And I tilt my head to the side, as he pulls me closer, we stand parallel, and I go to speak but he takes a long finger, and places it on top of my lips, and he murmurs, softly,

"Five,"

I look confused, standing apart from him, and I go to speak again, but he grins and presses his finger into my lips, the skin is soft, it reminds me of yesterday where I jumped, except he counts now with each pound of my heartbeat,

"Four,"

I giggle softly and step forward; we are inches away from each other, and his hand on mine, his finger on my lips, intoxicating, confusing. And we are quiet, his voice is thick, our fingers interlace,

"Three,"

I step closer just as he does, and now our hands are pressed to our chests, the only space is inches, is a hairs breath, but neither of us move, and my eyes are confused, but his eyes shine, with happiness, and maybe that is what it is, happiness is just living in the moment, and that's what he does, and that is what I will do until the train pulls back in, and until then, freedom is absolute, and then the dream disappears.

"Two,"

I cannot get any closer, and his hand lets go of mine and snakes around my waist, and I watch his teeth flash, he smells like forever. And I appreciate that, I appreciate the fantasy of these desperate moments.

"One,"

And then I hear it outside, a cheer, and everyone is laughing, and then they are all yelling, "Merry CHRISTMAS!" And I gasp, lips parting and his finger slips from my lips to my chin and tilts my head, and then he dips me back, and I laugh, his arm around my waist supporting me, and as he pulls me up he leans closer, his arm pulling me into him, until we are so close that I have forgotten to breath.

He leans in, and I feel his lips brush over my ear, softly, and the air whispers over my skin and he murmurs his voice an orchestra, the entire world, without it I am lost, and with it I am gone. And so very softly does he say,

"Merry Christmas _my Rosa…"_

I gasp, and push him away, my chest rising and falling, and then I am stepping closer, closer and closer, and he watches me advance, and grins, wide, not desperate, because he is here for me, here to save me, here to watch me, and that's all that I need.

And my voice sounds so very broken; it is as if it could not be mine,

 _"Rosa?"_

He nods, and he walks quickly closer until our noses are just brushing, and I step back, not afraid of him, or my heart, but the sudden open intimacy that he believes he can obtain. He watches my reaction and me with a careful look. And then he runs a hand through his hair, and I watch the movement, the locks are dark, like midnight, and I admire them,

When he speaks his voice is softer than the snow that falls outside, than the distant laughter of a happiness that will last eternally in this moment,

"Rosa- it's your name, _is it not?"_

I laugh softly and tilt my head to the side, my heart is fluttering, his eyes are electrocuting, and my voice is soft, like a whisper of death, of love,

"Every time I see you Potter, you have a new name, a new game, it's all very exciting, isn't it?"

He smiles, and I can feel the blush heat my cheeks and thank every god out there that I don't believe in that it is dark in here, only lit by the fires flames that dance over our faces and over the walls, making the moment irreversible. His voice is like heavy silk, like granite, like a gem,

 _"Life is supposed to be exciting,"_

He pauses and chuckles, his voice is like the darkness, you never know when it will be hunting you or when it will be protecting you, he is murmuring, and the words wrap around me,

 _"Unless you are too scared of living-"_

I laugh quietly, and turn away, walking into the other room, he follows inches behind, we stand before the tall Christmas tree, it is magnificent, and every time I see it it catches my breath.

And I turn to him, and look up at him, and laugh again, and we watch each other, and then I speak, finally, breaking the silence that hangs thick,

"I am not scared, I just think with my head, not my heart,"

He steps closer again, and I step back, and duck my head, and continue, my voice sounds broken, and yet I do not stop it from speaking,

"I fear my heart, and what is telling me to do,"

He tilts his head to the side, analysing my every move, analysing my every breath, my every movement,

"And what is it telling you to do Rosa?"

I shake my head and back away, hands splayed in front of me, as if warding him off, as if hoping he understands how new this all is to me. And I change the subject drastically, ignoring his last statement. And there in my voice lies a warning, a reminder of reality that we both needed, and the words, I spit them from my lips, harsh, brutal, cracking down like a whip,

"How is Sheila?"

He steps back and chuckles darkly, and then he is silent, and I wait, and eventually, as the seconds drag by he does speak,

"We broke up… Or she broke up with me… More like…"

I can hear a shudder in his voice, and I ask the question, the question I know I have to ask, to close the distance, to ignore the possibility, to give my heart a chance, a question, and yet I cannot face what the response will be, and yet so I ask,

"Did you love her?"

He takes his hand, running his index finger over my chin and tilts my head up so that our eyes connect, and his eyes are bare, strangely honest,

"No, but I thought she loved me, and it was nice-"

A pause and then he clears his throat, sighing,

"It was nice being loved for once…."

I nod and step back, his fingers slip from beneath my chin, and I turn to go up the stairs, and then I stop and look at the boy, just a child in the darkness, in the candles glow, and I whisper softly,

"James you don't need the whole nation to love you, you just need someone you love to love you too,"

His eyes find mine, and he steps closer, and I step back, and he steps closer again, until we are both on the stairs, me two steps above him, and him two below, now the same height, because of the stairs, and he goes to reach for my hand but I shake my head, eyes soft,

"James I am not like you…"

He laughs softly, eyes dancing in the darkness, in the candles light,

"Rosa I am not an idiot, as much as I enjoy acting like one,"

I try to smile but stop myself, my lips cannot turn up, and there again lies the warning, whispered beneath each word, held in each syllable, and his recognise it, I know they do, and so I whisper, to him, and maybe to myself,

"I have never been held, I have never been kissed-"

He opens his mouth to speak, but I give him a strong look, and he closes his mouth, catching a lip between his teeth, eyes slipping over my face, resting on my hands that are formed in fists by my sides, and so I go on,

"I have never been this close to someone, I have never had someone catch me as I fell, I have never…"

I pause and sigh, running a hand over my face,

"Intimacy, this, you, it's all new to me…"

I am studying the ground and slowly look at him, and to my surprise he is smiling widely, grinning, and I arch a brow, eyes narrowing, and he clears his throat, coughing, and then grinning, my voice is indignant,

"ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME?"

He laughs softly and then puts on a serious face, and shakes his head; eyes shining with an affection,

"Are you trying to tell me to stay away from you Rose BlackThorne?"

I open and close my mouth, no response leaving my lips, and he grins, wide, electric, and steps up a stair, so that we are no longer the same height, and he is taller, looking down on me, and he leans closer, his breath tickling my skin and goes on,

"Because I am afraid that is impossible for me to do,"

I laugh softly and here, standing here, I can feel something else, the scars, the alleyway, the song, the skin, the memories and souls locked in her heart, and I can feel a fear, this moment, every moment is too perfect, chaos must be coming. Chaos must be on its way to destroy this, so I must cherish it. The now, is fleeting, and hell is being raised in the west and in the east, and her hands were real, and so is my heartbeat, and I must not fear, I must trust, I must learn to.

My voice is laughing, but I do not find it funny, I find it exciting, and this is all new, the excitement, the want to live in the now and not the tomorrow. And so my voice is strong, and my fists unclench,

"I am telling you that if you take one step closer I am going to have to slap you,"

He nods, solemn, eyes laughing at me, and he raises his hands in defence,

"Agreed, so I'll just wait for you to come to me then?"

I nod, and go to leave, but stop myself, its Christmas, and I cannot seem to leave.

I consider. Love, history, the past, happiness, family, all words you can find the meaning to in the dictionary, but this is beyond books, because you cannot write down this feeling, living in this house, captured in his gaze, with his words endlessly stuck in my mind. So cherish, so live, and when the train pulls in let go, and go home. Yes.

And with that thought I step closer and wrap my arms around his neck, and lean up, onto my tip toes, and I watch him, eyes almost level with his, and then I smile softly and close my eyes, brave, scared, and lean in, placing my lips softly on his cheek, skin making contact with skin, and I can feel his arms slip over my back and pull me slightly closer, but those arms close on air because I am already slipping away, and I smile at him, and raise my hand, in a slight wave, in a slight salute, and call to him,

"Merry Christmas James Sirius Potter… See you in the morning, if I make it till then,"

He laughs and nods to me, calling after me with a slow wink, and a subtle lip bite, not that I will ever admit how my heart skipped a beat when he did either things, and then I am turning away, and so is he, and we go back into the light, away from our darkness. Leaving the secrets, the embraces, and the happiness behind.

The press, the rest of the world, they can never understand this beauty, the beauty of family, unless you don't have one. The way they care for each other, the constant arguing, but never over the line, just grazing their rules, and their hearts.

The night is thick, the darkness clouds my breath, and I breathe in sharply, hands forming fists and I let the breath go. Eyes opening, and I stare at him, green on green, not gold, not blue. I stare at him, and he watches me, and we watch each other. I scoot closer, the darkness in the room is creeping over my skin, and I can feel it, fingers, eyes, fear, creeping towards me, coming to kill me. And I feel a trickle of fear. I am afraid of death, the way it grasps for me.

His face is covered, his skin crinkled, his hair shaved, paint hides his face, brushed on delicately, and his fingernails long click as they touch the table, and he is leaning forward, he is holding a ball, crystal, white like ice, white like smoke, white like hell, and he dares me to look at it. And I do.

Chaos. Painted across the white, I can see spells flying, and then I see her, she is falling, hands reaching out to me, begging me to take her hand, and she is falling from the tower, and I cannot save her, I cannot save her. And I want to beg. I should, but what could I possibly say?

And a voice, hits the memory, bringing me to those green eyes, and the man whispers,

 _"The future and the past are often one…."_

I am leaning towards him, his breath reeks of death, of blood, his teeth are black and he continues, my voice one with his,

 _"One dead, one will die, a prophecy of past and now, a witness, a fallen crown, and a word, painted in red…"_

And my eyes fly open with his words, and I sit up, hands wrapping around my form. The room is too big, nothing can seem to fill it, my trunk in the corner, the bed has too many blankets, the windows are too big, the walls are so very long, and the grandeur makes me disgusted. Almost repulsed. It isn't homey, it reminds me of those beautiful palaces you see where no one lives, but when they enter the rooms, the Potters, suddenly it is not so empty; it is full, to the brim with life, a life that I can hardly focus on, their happiness, the emotions, and the laughter.

They laugh so often, the Weasleys and Potters, so often I wonder if a life that happy can actually exist.

I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs, shaking slightly. And then I notice, the window is open, and the curtains red like blood billow in the wind, and with the wind I can smell the fresh scent of blood carried on the air, the tumble of the sewage of a far off distant world from here, where the alleyways are dark, and the corners are scraped with dung and garbage.

When had I opened the window?

I stand, slowly, my dressing gown; Dom bought it for me in Diagon alley a few days ago, slipping down my bare legs, whispering against my soft skin. My feet creek on each floor bored, I can hear the soft rumble of each step as if I was causing an earthquake.

My skin is pale in the full moons light, my hand is soft on the curtain, the fabric is thick, cold, and a chill murmurs down my spine, as every nerve sparks alive, and my eyes open wider, my breath soft, I can feel it. Someone is watching, and I step forward, the window is broad, and I place my hand on each side, and lean out, looking into that darkness, and far, far below me I can see the white grounds, as snow whispers in the wind, whispers through my hair, through my life line, I love that snow, but now, with the darkness consuming, haunting, I can hardly breath, in fact I can't, it knows me, that darkness, there in the dim lit alleyway, that seems like a nightmare I cannot forget, and I am afraid, afraid of the still. The wind haunts me, the tree branches groan against its strong pull.

Boom.

I glance down, fluttering in the wind is a letter, white, not stamped, blank. No return address, and there on the right side is a drop of blood, crimson, like the curtains that slap against the walls, tossed in that chill.

I bend down, my fingers scraping at the parchment, stiff, it smells new and a trickle of fear is running down my spine, running down my life, draining this false sense of security within these walls. And I am shaking, and I open it, softly, quietly, and I read, the writing is typed, but the signature is familiar, the signature is empty.

 _Dear Rose,_

 _First we would like to formally apologize for the inconvenience of us being noticeably absent, especially for our first Christmas. We wish you all the best in the New Year coming. The orphanage, already viewed as your home is where you should stay until the winter break is completed. Then you must go to school and study hard. Your studies are important for your future, and your reputation. We are currently in Peru, it is very hot, and so you are not missing much. As we said earlier, we travel so very often we often loose track as to where we are._

 _Best wishes of the New Year and use the present wisely,_

 _You're foster family._

And the chill settles on me, not from their words, but from the magic, that family was muggle, so why did the letter fly in the window, of a heavily guarded manner, where the Potters live. _Go back to bed Rose_.

Live in the moment for a just a few more days, just a few more moments. _Please_. And I want to, truly, but the letter smells of death, and I can feel it, a chill of fear, the chill of chaos on the horizon, coming for me, for him, for us, _James and I._

And I crawl back to bed, closing the window behind me. _Forever._ How long is that when he and I haven't even started? _Never._ What is that? A word I cannot face, a word I refuse to. And so sleep takes me.

Sometime during the night I feel her arms wrap around me, and my eyes peel open, peering into the darkness at her. Dom. Her eyes are scared, and we lie there for a moment, and eventually she speaks. And her words are hard to process, hard to think in the inky blackness. So she whispers,

"Rose my life seems to be falling apart, and I don't get it,"

I turn over and look at her, there are silent tears on her cheeks, but she makes no sound and my eyes, my heart is confused, and I pull her close. Dom and I are not the closest of the group, often she gets fed up of my logic, my secrets, the way I don't live freely like she does. She hates that I am so careful, perhaps I do too. So why she here, her arms are weak, as if the energy of living is exhausting.

She closes her eyes and sighs. Her hands find mine in the blankets, and so do her eyes. And I wait for her to continue, and she does, her voice thick with a grief that scares me, aren't we alright? Behind these walls aren't we going to be okay?

"Rose, I'm scared…"

I sit up, and wait for her to follow the movement but she does not. She has a blank expression, as if ignorance was once bliss but when its gone it all crashes down. I clear my throat,

"Why, Dom what's wrong? Tell me, let me help,"

She shakes her head, back and forth and bites her cheek, she is normally strong in her character, not brave but proud to protect what she loves, which is not cowardly, but bigger than a simple word like brave. She looks ghostly in the dim lighting. And when she eventually does speak, her words make my heart thud,

"A couple weeks ago I saw Trelawney, I was gonna go talk to her about our project…"

I look over the scared girl, and lie back down, turning on my side to face her,

"And what was she doing?"

She looks at me, her eyes full of a worry for me,

"She was prophesizing…"

I swallow hard,

"About what?"

Her eyes shift from mine, and her lids close, and she is no longer squinting in the darkness. She goes on silently, so very quietly,

"About the Forgotten…"

A chill runs over me, and I turn on my back, and blink a couple times. But Dom continues before I can speak,

"She was saying that they want to find a weakness in the Potters…. So that they can pay for defeating the dark lord…."

A shiver, of dread, because chaos does not warn us before it arrives, it simply comes, and the transparent skin, the nightmares that keep me up, the shivers down my spine, the cold of a frost that has not frozen. I clear my throat,

"But the Potters are not weak, they are strong,"

She nods silently, and reaches for my hand, her palm upwards, and I stare at it, she is a friend, but in a moment like this she is a sister. And I take it, and give it a soft squeeze, my voice as soft as my touch,

"Don't worry, the Potters can survive anything, and they do not have a weakness, right? Everything will be okay…"

And as she nods and falls asleep, a burden now taken from her chest, I can feel it, a memory of him and I, in the garden, wrapped around each other, holding onto each other, and I remember his words,

 _"She said it is what liars say before they cry,"_

I wince, and giving her hand another squeeze I let go, our fingers unlocking. And I let my own eyes close, letting sleep take me into its wanting arms, ignoring the fear in my bones of what is to come.

V is shaking me awake, screaming, loud, she is happy, she is loud, her heart in her throat, and she is smiling, grinning, ear to ear, I bet her poor cheeks hurt, she is in her pyjamas, and she is yanking me down the stairs, Roxy joining in, Dom stumbling behind us, Lucy clutched onto her back like a leech.

And there, at the top of the grand stair case I pause, and all eyes look up, James is already there, handing out coffee, and drinking one himself, Albus is laughing with Teddy, whose eyes find mine, and I can see them all look at me. But why? Their gaze is curious, all of them, as if they cannot believe it is me, as if they are questioning what is me.

Harry Potter and Ginny stand next to each other with Lily at their feet, and next to them is someone that makes my breath get caught, Hermione Granger, her arms are crossed, and her eyes are exquisite, and she looks straight at me, head tilting to the side, as if searching me, for what? I can see George and his wife, Bill and Fleur, and with a horror, I realise I am the only one who is not a Potter or a Weasley that is here, all the other guests must have left after the party last night, just me.

I stand and I observe them, they look at me because they wonder who I am, why I am here, in their house, in their life. And I wonder too. Why am I here? Because James is here, because V is here, because fate lead me to their doorstep, because I cannot deny fate what it wants, so I am here.

And strangely enough it is Albus that stands and walks to my side, taking my hand, giving it a squeeze, his eyes are reassuring, a green that reminds me of the meadows outside, of the meadows that James and I ran through in the future.

His voice is not booming, it is humble, his hand is not strong, it is friendly, it doesn't make my heart pound, his skin is white not golden, he is tall but not so tall that I have to crane my neck to look at him. He is different than his brother, than everyone in this room. And I wonder why he was Slytherin, does he desire power? Or was it just fate that requested it.

And so he introduces me, and that, this moment, if only I knew it was the beginning of the end, then would I have stood there, with our hands interlaced, with golden eyes piercing our skin, and the world's most powerful and influential learning who I am? Would I have stood or would I have hid. I wonder….

And so Albus says,

"Everyone, this is Rose BlackThorne, V's sister separated at birth, and a close friend of mine,"

I glance at him, eyes haunting, and curious, I had never met Albus Potter before last week, so why lie? We weren't friends; indirectly we knew a hell of a lot of things about each other, through Scorpius, but other than that connection through the person we love, together, but why now, why introduce me when V was about to.

He turns to me and his eyes are kind, and at the same time worried, I wonder why? I suppose all I have been doing on Christmas morning was wondering.

And as he leads me down the stairs I see a pain in James' eyes, as if he wished he was the one that could say that, who could touch me so openly, without a second glance, a second heartbeat, and a part of me wishes that too.

V's arm wraps around my shoulders, and Dom grins at me, punching Al in the shoulder, saying,

"You couldn't mention that she is the love of my life you dork!"

Al looks bashful and gives my hand another squeeze before letting go. And I watch the black sheep of the family walk away, leaving me behind, and I see James pat him on the back and I watch the two of them and I could swear that James' lips mouthed, _"Thank you…"_ Or perhaps I am just seeing things, and so I look away.

Then there is hot coco, pushed into our hands, and cookies, croissants, bacon, pancakes, waffles, and so much more is brought into the huge room, and tables are made out of the air, dishes laying themselves out, and incredible smells filling the air, causing my stomach to shake awake.

And V is telling me to sit and so I am and I watch, I watch Lily run from the tree and into the living room, carrying presents for everyone, and I am surprised when one is dropped onto my lap, and she gives me an evil eye, deciding to announce to the whole room who it is from,

"ROSE HAS A GIFT FROM THE MAFLOYS!"

Everyone looks my way, and I can feel a flush rising on my cheeks, golden eyes digging into mine, and Albus' green ones looking slightly annoyed, V and the girls with their heads tilted to the sides in bitter annoyance. And the adults of the gathering looking slightly interested.

I reach and slowly open it, the wrapping is bright green, and I wince slightly, and undue the bow, and let the wrapping become undone, and my breath catches when I see what lies on my lap, and I smile, wide. It is a simple gift, to anyone it would be unimportant, but it means the world to me, it is flowers, pressed thinly on sheets of a warn book, and they are flowers he picked every Tuesday we met, for every week for this year, each week is documented, only the ones in the summer are missing, and I can feel a smile whispering onto my face, over my face. So that is why he picked the flowers from the tree every day. And my hands trace the outline of each of the dried and pressed petals with awe.

It is George, who speaks up, looking at me,

"A gift from a Malfoy, wow Rose, you've got all the men on your tail,"

I choke on my spit, and splutter, coughing while clearing my throat, eyes watering, and laugh nervously, glancing at James first; he simply raised an eyebrow in my general direction and then Albus who sent me a quick glare. I scoffed, and rolled my eyes, huffing as I put my gift down.

I watch each person open their gift, their faces light up, and I watch V get her sweater, made by nana Weasley, I watched each of them get knitted things, I watch James unwrap a knew broom given to him by his father, I watched them treasure each little parcel that came their way. And I watch Lily place my gift for James on his lap, and he looks surprised, seeing my initials on the tag, and slowly he opens it, great hands tender, and careful not to rip the wrapping, and he smiles when he sees it.

His hand runs over it, and he glances up at me and mouths thank you and I duck my head, my cheeks glowing with a slight happiness. I got him a dream catcher I had weaved myself, it took me all week, and with a small note, written in scrawled cursive saying, _"If you cannot have me, then have good dreams…"_

All the girls open my gifts, each singular for each of their tastes, ranging from clothing to poems, to crafts, to necklaces.

And then another one was placed on my lap, large, and way too light to be anything like a book,

I glance at Lily, who gives me a long knowing look, and then she skips over, and tugs on James' ear,

"James, Rose is opening your gift!"

He chuckles and scoops Lily up, placing her on his shoulders, and sending me a big grin and small wink, which I simply roll my eyes too. I slowly unwrap the box, and lift the lid, a gasp slipping from between my lips,

"James!"

My voice is indignant, and it catches everyone's attention, and Lily's too, her voice is tiny as she speaks,

"Why what is it! Rose, what is it?"

I cough, and clear my throat softly, and lift it up, my hands slipping beneath it, it is soft, light, and I can hear the gasps of others as well. It is a dress, made out of white gold, the bodice is encased in gold, and there are no sleeves, the gold in the form of intricate vines with a full rose blossom at the end of each of these curving vines, the gold is set on a white background, the white that traces down to the floor, just brushing it on all sides, the father it goes down the more transparent it becomes, so that from the knee down the white and gold fabric is sheer, and faded, as if it does not exist.

I drop it, watching it flutter down, back into the box and give James a- _"Are you out of your bloody mind- your family is right her you idiot"_ look. And he grins, winking, and with horror, as my cheeks grow redder and redder, I realise he wants them to know and I quickly laugh, pushing it into the box and putting the lid back on, my eyes watering from shock. At least with the other gifts he had given me only me and him knew about them, now his entire families eyes were on me.

But quickly the conversation turns elsewhere, until Lily starts bringing presents and piling them at my feet. And as I glance at the tags they all say in that curly gold writing, JSP. I glare at James and he smiles softly.

I shake my head at Lily, there are around 7 packages, all heavy and large, but she simply grins and goes back to sitting on James' lap. And slowly I unwrap each one.

Books, book after book, some as old as four thousand years, and other so very recent. Some with spines broken, some with pages worn down, some with titles cracked, and the more I open the more I can feel my breath get caught, until I can't breathe, until breathing is impossible. And then, at the bottom of the last pile is a very small volume, younger than the rest, and I freeze, it's a diary, the writing is scribbled, and the year is 2012, James must have been only 9. And I look at him and I can feel it, the last bit of will power slipping, and I want to cherish it, to love it, this moment, his smile, and he dips his head, and I hold the book, fingers slipping softly over it, and then I hug it to my chest, before placing it carefully back in its box.

And through the flurry of movement I mouth a thank you and he nods in response, eyes never wavering from mine. And then one last gift is placed on my lap, and I glance down at it, the writing is perfect, not cursive, straight hand, and not a quill but a muggle pen, and there are no initials, only a note that reads,

 _"For us dreamers, who rise from the station they put us in, and create our own rank, and our own happiness. Live life well Rose BlackThorne, and remember a guardian angel will always be watching over you,"_

 _-H_

And slowly I unwrap it, and there lying in a very tiny box is a ring, and there is the Black families crest set on a hedge of thorns. And I feel it, like lightning, like hell, chaos is coming, footsteps behind, and chaos has worn this ring before. And I swallow hard, and quickly wrap it back up, slipping it into my pocket, a crinkle in my brow forming.

The presents go by quickly until we are upstairs getting dressed for tonight, and V and I stand next to each other in the mirror, our eyes searching each other's in our reflection. And finally she clears her throat, and takes my hand, and examines me, from my toes where the white heels shine, and up, over the transparent fabric that fades to colour, the soft pearly white that fades into golden roses, and tightens at the waist, depicting my figure to a T, slipping over my flesh until it reaches my breasts, curving over them to a stop, soft gold is dusted over my shoulders and collarbones, and highlights make my cheeks prominent, but other than that I wear no makeup. I have nothing to hide, this is me, in a nice dress, that probably cost a fortune.

But V's eyes say otherwise, they are asking silently what I will do, what we should do.

And when she speaks I feel it in my heart, her words,

"Can you tell him Rose? Are you brave enough?"

I look away from her, and back at my reflection, and I blink slowly, and so she goes on,

"Do you think it'll work out, realistically?"

I shake my head, eyes finding hers again, and she nods in response.

We are quiet, and then she goes on, her voice holds a bitter honesty, reason, and a love of someone who cares too much to watch me get hurt,

"Do you know how many girlfriends James has had?"

I look to the floor and I shake my head again. And so she nods again, a response to my action, and her voice is crimson, and harsh, harshly real,

"Countless. And Sheila was the longest one, the first one he brought home, and the first one that he smiled at with more than just his lips…"

I turn to her, and find my voice and my courage,

"He did not love her V, he never has…"

She nods, it seems to be the only thing she has been doing,

"Remember what I told you yesterday?"

I dip my head, hands smoothing over the silk, getting lost in the rustle of satin,

"Yes…"

She sighs, and tilts her head to the side, her eyes are welcoming, and I trust them, I have grown to love them,

"Rose the cameras, the action, it's a blur of life, can you handle that?"

I bite my lip, and I know the answer, the answer is no, simple and plain, but what about the tomorrows that may not come? What about it all? Reason. Logic. I need those; I need them to be me. My eyes go to the mirror, and I watch my reflection, I do not recognise this woman, this smile, these sad eyes, she is foreign to me.

And I whisper, softly,

"I'm scared that my heart and my mind are separate…"

V smiles softly and wraps her arms around me, resting her chin on my shoulder, and I lean into her soft touch, and she responds, her voice is loving, her voice is familiar, and I crave it, the happiness that she lights in my heart, and so she says,

"Remember when we lied under the stars and you told Dom that we don't know what love is?"

I give a shaky breath and nod slowly, eyes staying connected with hers in the big mirror; she squeezes my hand and goes on,

"You were right, we don't, we are too young to understand it…. But as long as you are happy Rose, as long as you can face the fact that James doesn't do long, and that there will be burdens, and eyes,"

She pauses and swallows softly, her eyes are scared for me, and then she goes on, on and on, her words reassuring and terrifying,

"Then be happy…. But if you cannot face the world by his side, or even a fraction of that world, that don't risk it, don't risk your heart…"

I turn and face her, and roll my head back a long with my shoulders, and then I grin, and nod a couple times,

"I am happy, I am blinded by this happiness, but I do not love him,"

She looks surprised, and steps back, her eyes giving me a ' _what_ ' look, and I grin, ear to ear, and twirl, the dress spinning all around me, and I stop and give a soft laugh, answering her expression,

"In fact I do not even know him, but strangely enough I'd like to, know him… And then…"

I pause and glance back at the mirror, my eyes are alive with a flame that I have never seen before, and my words shock me more, and so I whisper like the grass murmuring in the breeze of an autumn day, soft, free, happy until the wind leaves them behind,

"And then maybe I can call him my friend… And that will be enough, won't it? Because it wouldn't work, not logically, but this feeling, of falling and wanting to fall, it's great!"

V laughs full out and hits me over the head, her voice humorous,

"What are we quoting Romeo and Juliet now, merlin Rose, you have a flair for the dramatics!"

I giggle, and stick my tongue out at her,

"Says the one who said that the whole world would give a damn if I went out with James Sirius Potter, and I'm the dramatic one?"

She rolls her eyes and laughs softly, and sighs, eyes smiling,

"You know I don't think I'd be me today without you,"

Love. We say we do not understand it, and yet here, across the room from someone my whole world depends on, I can say firmly that she is the sister I was destined to love. And if not her, then who? And so we are happy, and we are real, and we are here.

I nod, and smile, my cheeks are beginning to hurt, and I wrap my arm around her shoulder, and make her sway left and right with me, my voice is happier than it has been in a while,

"I think this is all your fault Veronica Granger Weasley,"

She pulls away and crosses her arms, jaw dropping, arching a brow,

"Really, care to explain that outrageous theory?"

I nod very mater of fatly, and go on,

"Yes, you are the one that told Potter everything about me, so of course he would get interested in my incredible self, you should have seen this coming,"

She tries to keep a serious face, but ends up laughing and buries her face in her hands, peaking at me from between her fingers, it's funny me and her often do the same actions, I often wonder who did it first, but I never get an answer, which is weird.

Her voice is soft, like a lullaby, like happiness captured in each note,

"Seen what coming, that you, my self-righteous, logical friend would start to like James Potter?"

She laughs softly, and shakes her head back and forth, whispering as she opens the door,

"How could I have had any idea that you would be so careless with your heart?"

And with that she bows her head and leaves and I wonder, mulling over her words in my head, had I given my heart? The answer is no. Was I attracted to James Potter, undeniably yes. Did I love him? No. Yes, my heart skipped a beat when I saw him, and several beats with each step he takes closer to me, but there are ghosts in his eyes, and demons in his fists, and I cannot trust him, so I cannot love him, not fully, not unconditionally, but can I, just for today, like him? Yes. Why not? It is just the end of the New Year, and we have a week before we go back, a week to not pretend, not that I am pretending, just that I am a coward. That's all.

The dinner table is long, a huge slab of oak, you can see each ring let of the beautiful flesh, each curve of where it grew, on top of that is food of every variety, pork, beef, turkey and ham, mash potatoes piled high, a pie of every variety, gravy of every type, vegetables that shine in colours I cannot describe, all tempting, but too much to try everything.

The table is set with golden plates and wine glasses filled with a strange auburn liquid I have never seen before, the aromas of the room make my stomach growl, and I smile big. The room is filled with the family, all dressed in riches that could probably save world hunger, only one person stands out in her overalls and regular t-shirt, Hermione Granger. V laughs and goes to her, but before she does she gives my hand a squeeze. Reassuring, and it is all I need.

A voice murmurs behind me, Teddy Lupin, not surprised that I am here, and happy to see me,

"You look stunning Rose, though I am not supposed to praise my students or choose favourites,"

I turn to him, and bow my head in respect; my voice is excited, slightly on edge,

"Mr. Lupin, hi! Wow, this, all of this, it's so grand,"

He nods slowly, and surveys the room before us, and laughs softly,

"It's a crazy waste of money, but they are normally humble, the Potters, the fame does not get to their heads-"

He stops mid-sentence as James enters, he wears a black suit with a red dress shirt, the cuffs are golden, and so is the collar and the buttons, he doesn't wear a tie, but has the first few buttons undone, his hair is not slicked back, but hangs in his eyes, a mess, and golden earrings dangle from his ear lobes, his shoe laces are golden, and I give a slight sigh of defeat, as I watch him follow his mother around the room reading an article from this witch weekly, talking in a smug voice about how good he is. Teddy chuckles and continues his sentence,

"Not all of them let the fame get to their heads, but James as usual is an exception,"

I laugh softly, and nod. He watches me for a quiet moment and then slips by me, entering the room unseen. And as he enters he taps James on the shoulder and nods his head towards me, and slowly James turns and faces me, and a smile slips over his lips, and he walks towards me, eyeing me from my feet to the tip of my head and letting out a soft low whistle,

"Merlin Rose, I think you almost had me speechless,"

I laugh, rolling my eyes, and adjusting the heavy skirts,

"James the dress is ridiculous, incredibly ridiculous,"

He nods, giving me a solemn look, and then grinning,

"Right, your word is gospel, come sit,"

I sigh, and arch a brow, but smile softly as I see everyone else siting, and so I follow their lead. Ginny and Harry sit next to each other at the head of one side of the table, and Hermione and Ron at the other, everyone else just sits where they please. I sit next to V and Albus, who looks surprised when I sit next to him, but quickly smiles at me. Across from me are George Weasley and James.

It is Hermione that raises her glass for the toast, and smiles wide,

"Let us thank each other for all being here today, and with lightened hearts and the holiday spirits let us smile, and enjoy the incredible feast laid out before us,"

And the clinking of glasses fills the air, along with cheers, and big smiles. Food is ladled onto the plates and laughter rings through me. They are all so happy simply in the company of each other, and it impresses me. I pay little attention to the conversation, until George, a very handsome man, his fame from his jokes makes me hesitate to combat wits with him, but he starts the conversation, his voice so booming that everyone hears it,

"So Rose, how'd you meet Al here? He isn't the sociable type, and he's never brought a girl home before,"

I nod a couple too many times, and glance at Albus, waiting for him to say something, to say anything, because in fact we me met on the stairs last week, and were not, as he so weirdly quoted "close friends".

But he only winces and waits for me to say some sort of an excuse. But as the silence becomes more defining I clear my throat and speak, the first words I said in front of them all, in front all of the Potters ad Weasleys, the first of many.

"We met through a fellow friend that we both love dearly, and it kind of fell in place, he is brave, and he is kind, and"

I pause and glance at him, and then suddenly I am not me, I am Scorpius, saying everything that he has told me, all the constant hours he wouldn't shut up about him, and the information just starts spouting, and weirdly I cannot stop him,

"There was this time that we went to the kitchens and started cooking raspberry tarts, and Albus threw one right at my face, I was shocked, I didn't think he was, but he is a good friend, because though we do not know each other directly as well, we know of each other, so much that I am sure we could both write a book,"

I laugh softly, and I can hear him, Scorpius ranting about how the sugary raspberries had gotten stuck in his hair, and yet he had said he had never been happier, never. My eyes are far away and I go on, my voice soft, like my laughter, like my pulse,

"People always say Slytherins are the worst, but I disagree, they have their pride, but they don't mix it up with bravery. They are strong, Albus is strong."

When my gaze focuses again I can see James giving me a very quizzical look, and Albus looks grateful, and continues from where I left off,

"Rose, she has a big heart, and she reads a lot, it gets kind of terrifying, sometimes I find her in the library on the brick of passing out, it's very amusing,"

I turn to him, and for a moment he does not have green eyes, but blue, because it is like they are the same, the Malfoy and him,

"Hey, I only passed out once, and that was because my caffeine intake was too low, which was actually all your fault, you're the one who is responsible for bringing me coffee in the morning you idiot,"

He laughs and his eyes, I know they do not see me, but Scorpius, and suddenly it hurts, my heart, normally he'd visit me on Christmas day, or I would visit him, and I look down, and clear my throat, and when I look up again his eyes aren't blue they are green.

George nods, and laughs softly, and then he looks at the dress,

"Did you get her the way too expensive dress Al? Because I am pretty sure that was a gift from you James,"

James' eyes leave mine, and he grins, fluid, as if he never falters,

"Why yes, as much as Rose doesn't like flattery, I enjoy it,"

I scoff softly, and turn it hastily into a cough, giving him a sharp look. And the conversation drifts away. And I eat, everything melts in my mouth, but a booming voice brings me out of my quiet revere,

"What do you think Rose?"

I glance up, Harry freakin' Potter is staring at me, expecting an answer, and I blush crimson,

"I'm sorry, what?"

He laughs softly, his eyes wrinkle on the sides when he laughs, and repeats the question,

"How is London, living there? I heard the muggle side is getting pretty bad with the gangs,"

It is polite conversation but it makes me choke slightly on my spit, and I glance down, at my hands knotted in my lap, and V looks at my freaked out expression, and takes my hand under the table and gives it a reassured squeeze, and so I answer, trying my best to keep my voice steady,

"It is getting bad, often at night I carry pepper spray, just for safety, but thanks to you, I am here, in your house, and not there,"

It is Ginny that asks the next question, her voice kind, and interested, curious, digging beneath the act and James' gaze is heavy,

"But your family, are they celebrating without you?"

I blink slowly, and V gives my hand another squeeze, and surprising her and myself, I tell them the truth, or the bigger amount of truth, with just some things held back, my voice does shake as I speak though, no matter how hard I try to keep it even,

"Yes, they are travelling abroad, in South America presently,"

I pause and glance down at my plate, and back up, smiling,

"As much as I would love to travel, I promised V that I would spend the winter with her, and I was starting to feel guilty for denying her year after year."

Ginny laughs, but her motherly gaze sees the shake in my voice, the quiver in my breath, and so does James, and under the table I feel his hand find mine, and I glance at him, and he gives me a faint smile before letting go.

Dinner goes smoothly from then on, but just as dessert begins to end, Hermione gets a letter, her owl persistent, pecking away at her hand until she opens it, and a soft gasp whispers from her lips. And then she reads it, her voice loud, and as soon as she begins to speak we all fall silent, and listen in horror,

 _"Miss Granger I regret to inform you on such an occasion of the murder of the entire family of muggle advertisers, the name is Lyons, and their daughter and son, Leandra and John in Peru last night."_

She stops and takes a deep breath, and goes on, and I can feel it, those names, the names of my foster family, and my hands are shaking under the table, her words keep hitting me as she reads,

 _"The bodies were left in the same state as Mundungus, with the same incantation. We are currently trying to find a connection with them and our world, and why the Forgotten would care about if they lived or died. Again our regrets, Ministry of Magic,"_

The world is spinning, and it is here, chaos has arrived, and I can't breathe. Their connection? A simple answer, _me._ And I have no cover, nowhere to hide, and as everyone begins to murmur, and Harry stands to go talk to Hermione, I feel her eyes, Hermione's eyes on mine, and they hold a pity, dark and mysterious, she pities me, and as I try to regain my breath I meet her gaze.

And I see in her eyes a knowing, as if she can see right through the golden dress to the no longer existent hole in my heart. And the lack of air is crippling, I don't care about them, but if they can hurt them, who else that I know can they hurt, can they kill? The room is spinning, in fact so is the world, and I can hear V whispering to me to be okay, to breathe, to not run, to just last through the next fifteen minutes of dinner, but I can't, and I can hear my subconscious telling me to act normal, to not let it affect me, because they cannot know.

Boom.

My fist hits the table, hard, and everyone's eyes are on me, and I am turning, out of the room, hands clutching my sides, and I running, fleeing, until I reach the bathroom, I feel V murmur to them that I wasn't feeling well, and that death scares me, and that I am just a little nauseous, and then she is there, arms around me, holding me, murmuring to me that it won't be okay right now, but it will be, eventually, and so the minutes pass, and I do not shed a tear.

Chaos. The beginning of a horrible story, that may end well, but sacrifice is required. And it all is too real. And then we are walking back to the table, and I am giving them reassuring smiles, and I can see the worried golden eyes, and the curious green, but through all of their gazes I can see hers, Hermione's. And she is telling me that this was only the warning, and not a battle.

The stars shine above me, and the heavy silks of the dress James bought me cause me to shiver. I can feel his breath on my neck before I hear his footsteps. And I lean into it, the idea of him, but not him himself, because I am not that brave.

He does not touch me; perhaps he heeded what I told him earlier today, just as the clock striked midnight. We are silent; the balcony is beautiful, green vines climb up from the pillars that are regal beneath us. I glance at him, out of the corner of my eye, and the sight of his wand clutched in his fist surprises me.

His knuckles are white, and his eyes are unclear, and so my voice is just a murmur in the wind, a question, just a name,

"James?"

He pauses and turns to me, gaze heavy, and it frightens me, how it makes my heart thud, how I don't understand any of this. And so I repeat his name,

"James?"

He closes his eyes and tilts his head up, so that he is facing the sky, unafraid, but I am scared, scared of being alone with him in the dark, scared of not being able to let go of him once I have him. His hands find mine, and my lips part, soft, cold, real, solid.

They run over my knuckles, and over my wrists, up my arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind the soft touches, they run over my shoulders, tracing my collarbone, and my own head is tilted back with his, my eyes closed, and I can see the stars above us even with them shut, I can smell him, even when I have forgotten to breath, I can see his smile, his golden eyes even with mine shut.

His hands are large, and they whisper across my skin, and up my neck, over my chin, over the mountains of my lips, and under the curve of my cheek bone, over the swell of my cheek, and gently sweeping over my shut eyelids, ridding them of the wrinkles. I can hear the soft air escape from my lungs and slip over my lips, he can hear it too, I know he can.

When did I get so used to this? This feeling of letting go?

Desire. It is corruption in its true form, it is a nightmare with a pretty face, it makes your heart race, it makes your blood run warm. It makes you jump for them, fall for them, it makes you foolish, blind, so that they can manipulate you even with your eyes closed. Attraction. All the same.

So how much of this is desire, and how much of this is love?

Attention. The need to never let go, to want them to notice, someone to notice, the simple need for someone to love you .How much am I like her, Sheila? How much do I need the simple touch to stay alive, how much does he need my heart to believe he is the best?

And is my heart worth any of it, but it is too late, his hands leave me, and I open my eyes to find him facing away from me. Head still tilted towards the stars, but eyes open, surveying the world he will inherit. And I feel it, chaos. It is in the shadows that have eyes, it is in the vines that climb up the pillars, it is in our simple touch.

They are dead. I should be grieving; I should tell someone that I knew them, to breath, so that maybe I can face it. But they are dead because they saw him, they saw the golden eyes, they saw the way my heart longed for him, they saw the way he looked at me, that monster in the alleyway saw right through it, she saw the way V held my hand in the memory, the way Scorpius smiled, the way James followed my every footstep, the way, the meadow, she saw it all, her and her transparent skin.

So that was her warning, of just how close she can get to me, just how close they can all get to me. But James is okay, because they can't hurt James, because James is strong, James is unbreakable, right?

He is the first to speak after all this time,

"Rose, what do you love most about the world we live in?"

I am surprised by his question and I turn, looking out on the world with him, my hands resting on the railing, next to his, our fingers brush each other.

"I love how the sun rises every day no matter what, I love the way the stars shine, I love the way I am always happy when I forget to try to be, I love the way it feels, to be loved…."

He glances at me from under long, dark lashes.

And then he raises his wand, slowly, towards the sky, and whispers a spell I have never heard before,

"Nominis eius capere mihi in astra"

I gasp, how could I not? Out of his wand floats balls of light, silver, and gold, pale, and dark, soft, so very soft I could almost touch them, they are so very dim, but they light up my world, and they rise with the wind, turning in it, and in that wind I can smell the meadows breeze, and wolf hair, wet from the waterfall, and then they fly to the heavens, turning in the wind, winding towards the world above us, as they rise they become smaller, and they become far away, so very distant from my heart, and yet they begin to come together, forming a vine of their own, going to a space in the darkness where no stars are present, and there they grow in size, until they shine from here, from earth, they are small in the vast blackness, but they are everything in our darkness, and they shine for me, for us, so that I can see them and they slowly shape words, no, not a word, a name, and I whisper it,

 _"Rosa…"_

He smiles softly, and lowers his wand and looks to me,

"Those stars will stay in your sky, in that sky forever, so even if we cannot last that long, even if tomorrow is all we have, they will stay there, and they will rule for us, and they will live for us…."

I can feel a single tear slip down my cheek, and I sigh softly, and step forward, wrapping my arms around him from behind, resting my head on his back, and he leans into my touch, and I whisper,

"James, I don't deserve your heart…."

He laughs, not angry, but real, and I can feel the vibrations through my mind,

"I don't think I can give you my whole heart Rose…"

I pull away from him, and tilt my head up, and our eyes meet, and my heart is in my throat,

"James, are you saying? What are you saying exactly?"

His eyes smile, but his lips do not, and he answers quietly,

"I'm saying that you should be warned that this is all new to me too…"

I lean closer, whispering,

"James, you've dated before- if that's what we're talking about? Is that what we're talking about?"

He shakes his head, chuckling softly,

"Rosa, I'm talking about our hearts…"

I feel a flush rise over my cheeks, and quickly look down, and then back up at him, and his voice does not waver as he goes on, and I cannot help but feel a pride, he is brave, bravest now as he tells me the truth, which is the hardest thing to say. And so he does say, and his words haunt me, capture me,

"I've never loved someone before, so I'm not good at it, I buy you these things, because that's all I know, don't you see Rose, that's all I understand…"

I step closer, but he shakes his head and goes on,

"I know you don't want money, I know you don't think the dresses and the books have any meaning, and maybe they don't…. But they are all I know… Rose… I,"

I smile softly and shake my head, hands clasped together,

"James, I am not asking for your heart, in fact I do not think I can give my whole heart either…."

He watches me, golden eyes defenceless, prepared for the worst, I can already see the guard building, and I say what I have to say, because without it my heartbeat will not slow down, and he is beautiful, he is perfect, and often, I forget how that beauty is real, how he is real.

My voice is soft,

"James when you get me, you get all of me, the bad bits too, and that includes the bits that don't like you very much…"

He laughs out loud, and he grins,

"Same here, but Rose, I've never…"

I nod slowly and we pause, and there is a silence, an understanding, and then what he says next is the most selfless thing I have ever heard, and it is too much, too much of everything, too much for me to comprehend,

And his voice is heavy, his voice is weighed down by the world, and so are his words, and he says so very slowly, so very softly,

"Rose, I do not want this life for you, with everyone watching, with everyone thinking you are just the next girl in line, the next play thing-"

He pauses and takes both of my hands in his, the movement slow,

"I want you to be happy, and here, behind these walls I can secure that happiness, but out there, I have to warn you that they will judge you, on your weight, and your hair colour, and every move you make, and everything you say and that you're a muggle…"

I can feel a tear slip down my cheek and I step closer,

"I am not afraid of the eyes James, I have no fear of facing the camera, James, wait-"

But he is already letting go of my hands, and I have to stop him, I have to, because I can't survive if he doesn't stop. And so I grab onto his arm, my grip fierce and turn him to face me, eyes indignant,

"Are you afraid James? Because then you are not the James I know… You are someone else…."

His eyes shine, and he chuckles so very softly that I thought I imagined it, and he steps closer and turns me so that I am facing the stars, and he points to them, to the sky,

"Isn't that the best romantic gesture ever?"

I laugh, and glance up at him and back to the sky, and then I sober up, and whisper into the night air,

"It might just be, come on, how often does a girl get her name created as a constellation?"

He grins and rests his chin on the top of my head, smiling down at me,

"I'd say at least once in forever…"

I nod softly, and lean into him, he is warm, he is strong, and though the fear bubbles in my chest, and the message from Peru hunts me, I am safe in these arms, I am safe as long as he does not let go. And it is worth it, all of it, everything, just to be here, in his arms.

Eventually I break the silence, pulling away from his embrace awkwardly,

"James why did Albus introduce me, why can't I introduce myself, do you view me as a child?"

He doesn't wince, and laughs softly, running a hand through his hair,

"You are a very challenging person Rose,"

I scoff, and cross my arms, arching a brow,

"I told you that you would get all of me, including the parts that-"

He finishes my sentence, his tone humorous,

"That you don't like, got it."

I roll my eyes and huff, and I wait for him to respond, to say anything, but he is silent, and so I continue, my eyes burning into him,

"James as much as you are an attractive individual, I should tell you my independence is something I would prefer to keep,"

He full out laughs, eyes shining with a weird joy, his voice chuckles at me, the sarcasm so very thick,

"Rose, were not even dating, and yet here we are, arguing like a couple,"

I blush crimson and slap him on the shoulder, glaring,

"And for these reasons, we are not dating,"

He sighs, and groans softly, bending down so that we are eye level,

"And now we are going in circles…."

I bite my lip, he has a point, but how does one learn to go straight? And so I continue, my voice soft,

"Just answer the question,"

He nods slowly, and squints out, looking up at the stars, where my name shines, and completely avoiding my statement he changes the topic drastically, his voice still humorous, but now more serious as well, as if the reality of it is funny,

"Don't worry Rose, the constellation, only the caster, and the receiver can see it, our own little secret,"

A pause, and then he goes on, his voice laughing softly,

"And of course our offspring can see it, so for it last truly forever we will need to have kids,"

I roll my eyes and give him a long look of, are you kidding me right now? And he sighs, and puts his hands up in defence,

"Fine. I didn't want my family to look at you as another girl of mine,"

His honesty surprises me, and I tilt my head to the side, and swallow slowly,

"But you then proceeded to buy me gift after gift and antagonize me during dinner,"

He laughs softly and nods, his eyes leaving mine and looking out on the sea, raging beneath the cliff, his voice is caring, and distant, all at the same time,

"Yes. But I have never done either of those things with the other girls, so it shows them that you are special, not like the rest."

I wince at his words, it is not the kind meaning and intention behind them that revolts me, it is the constantly brought up generalized group of foolish woman, some children, who have all succumbed to his charm. And it repulses me, which I am standing next to him, with no fear of that past he holds. And I consider Sheila, pitiful, but realistic. And the thought of her, and him, him and anyone, it makes me feel winded. I am not jealous; no jealousy does not make you feel the want to go wash your hands. No, it is the fact that no one can change from their character, their way of living. Not even James Potter.

And slowly the minutes tic by and we say nothing, just watching that sky, with my name carved into it. And eventually, he leans down and kisses the top of my forehead, his lips soft, tender, and then he is gone, out of the door, and down the stairs, and it is colder now that he has left. And it is scarier now that he is not here, and it is more real now that I can breathe, and there is a hint of regret, whispering through my mind, whispering to me, whispering through the wind to me.

And I close my eyes, my head spinning, and I need something, to dull the pain, perhaps someone, and I stumble, hitting the wall, and I collapse against it, sinking to the floor, hands wrapping around me, and I am breathing fast, I can't even cry, I can't, because my heart is admitting it, admitting that I care, and then a voice breaks in, Ginny's voice, her eyes curious,

"Rose BlackThorne…"

I glance at her, her eyes are kind, but there is a slight tinge of fear in them,

"Your eyes, they remind me of someone I've seen before, but I can't place it."

I blink and stand the beautiful gold dress, shines around me; she laughs softly as she sees it, and murmurs,

"I wonder how much of my bank account went into that dress? James is very excessive, but I think you already know that, perhaps you already know him,"

I chuckle, nervous, and my hands smooth over the cloth, and I clear my throat, biting my lip,

"I don't want your money… At all…. James is just hard to deny, he is very persistent…"

She nods, and then she looks at me, long, eyes intelligent and beautiful and then she smiles,

"I've never seen James look at someone like he looks at you, the way he holds your hand, the way he stands by your side, defends you; he doesn't do that for anyone… Ever…"

I blink slow, and my breathe is ragged and I nod,

"He is a good person Mrs. Potter, you raised him well,"

She shakes her head, eyes sad, and looks out at the gardens and the forest and sea that lie before us,

"I didn't… I should have but I didn't…"

I lean on the railing, hands wrapping around myself, and glance at her and she slowly turns and looks at me, and she smiles,

"It's Ginny Rose, not Mrs. Potter, I trust James' judgement, if he smiles like that for you, then you will be sticking around here for a while,"

I blink, and suck in my breath and extend my hand, smiling big, and she looks surprised, looking down at my hand, and she reaches for it, but I shake my head and wrap my arms around her, murmuring,

"Just as you said Ginny, I don't do handshakes, I do hugs,"

She stares at me, and smiles, ducking her head, and then looking back out, and then she glances at me, analysing me, and her next words are a little more motherly, almost scolding,

"It isn't my place Rose, but when you showed up on our doorstep, why did you have blood all over you, why did you look like your heart had been torn from your chest?"

I blink slowly, and suck in my breath and I look out, out on it all, and smile softly, my hands wrapping around myself as I speak,

"I don't think I can give you an answer, because I don't know the answer…"

She watches me, fiery, long, and I continue,

"But I do know that I am safe, and I am happy, and that that is all that is important…."

She does not respond for a while and when she does it is with her clearing her throat, the sound is quiet, and her words hit me hard, and so she murmurs,

"He better hold onto you Rose, because if he lets you go, then he is a fool,"

And I tilt my head,

"I'm not his, I'm no ones, and James and I? I think I am more confused about that than anything else…."

She nods softly, and she turns to me, she is taller than me, she is proud, she is regal, she deserves it all, she is a heroine in her own right, and I admire that. She goes to leave but my words prevent her from doing so,

"Mrs. Potter- I mean Ginny,"

She looks back at me, red hair vibrant in the dim light,

"Yes?"

I swallow my fear and ask the question that I need an answer to, more than I need anything, than air, and so I ask,

"Can I trust him, James?"

She looks away and then back at me, her gaze thick, and then she grins, big, and her eyes come to life, just like James' do, and she laughs, like bells, her long dress whispering behind her as it slips over the floor, the scarlet train long, and she calls over her shoulder, voice ringing,

"It's funny you ask that Rose, when I was about to ask you the same thing…"

And so she is gone…. And as I stand and watch her go I realise. The Forgotten Ones, they were looking for a weakness, but they no longer need to. Because they found it. In my memories they saw how they cared, how he cared, so they think I am the Potters weakness, James' weakness. And into the darkness I whisper, to no one, and to everyone,

 _"Wrong, I am not his weakness, I am his strength…"_


	20. Of metal bones and age differences

Chapter 20: Of metal bones and ages differences

~Rose's POV~

The train ride was peaceful, the world was snowy, and you could see the soft white float through the air outside of the misted window. I remember them waving goodbye from the train station, no one had ever waved me off before, and I remember his hand finding mine as we slipped by each other, as he heads to his compartment, and me to mine, and I can still feel it, the soft touch of his fingers running over my wrist, the brush of flesh on flesh, the tender stroke of his nail over my knuckles. And then I remember him walking away, golden eyes lost elsewhere.

Since coming back I have dreamed of this day every night, sometimes three of four times a night, and I cannot seem to over analyse it enough, because there is something, something that I lost, that I forgot to pay attention to, something small, something that if you looked at it from far away, would seem unimportant, but means the world.

My mind takes me back in time to the train car, and there is something that is striking to me. Something in this scene I should of caught. I should have noticed. My mind is scolding me for missing it, for looking over it, it is yelling at me. And so I examine again, looking for the hair out of place.

V, her hair ruffled, a blanket wrapped over her shoulders, leaning slightly on Roxy, who is reading a Quidditch Romance novel, her favourite aspect of that genre, her eyes wide, Lucy, her hands are dirty from making snowballs and pelting them at the retreating family only minutes ago, and then the last girl. She is looking out the window, the window is clear, soft ice outside of it, frosty, and I can see myself in my mind lean forward and sit next to her, her hair is blonde, eyes startlingly blue, heart in those open eyes, hearts in it all.

I take a breath and let the air out, slipping over soft lips, and I watch it cloud the window frame, and I remember, turning to look at her, what was wrong with this scene, just like every train ride up, what had caused my mind to drag me back to here every night this week when my eyes closed. Begging me to recognise something, but what?

And softly I look at her, she presses her hand to the glass, she is smiling, her eyes are distant, it is as if they cannot see, but her happiness sees for her, but she can see Rose, of course she can. Dom tilts her head, and I watch her take a deep breath and let it go, and I do the same, my half of the window clouds with condensation from the warm air, and I glance at her, and she looks at me, and we smile, and then my eyes go to the window, my finger going to its cold glass ready to make a heart in the fogged glass from her breath, but my hand pauses, why does it pause?

I turn over, hands going up to wrap around my head, and murmur in my sleep, why? Over and over, as if possessed. My fingers reach the glass, and I draw the heart, right?

 _No._ The alarm clock blares, and I sit straight up, and groan flopping back onto the soft bed, and running my hand through my hair, fluffy from the tossed sleep. And I close my eyes, desperately wanting to see my finger trace the heart on the glass, but every morning this week, ever since the train ride, I have replayed this scene, each moment in more avid detail, but to no avail, I never get past raising my hand to draw it. We always draw it. So we must have. But then again what does it matter, we are all here, all fine, all okay, so why stress? Right Rose, why be worried? It's just a heart, it's just that.

V glances over at me from between the slits of heavy drapes and smiles big, rolling onto her stomach, and propping her head on her hand, and I smile at her funny expressions softly, and shake my head. Whatever happened after my hand touched the glass is unimportant. Whatever took place doesn't matter, because we are all here. Right? Right.

The newspaper drops onto both of our beds, and me and V both snatch it up, and glare at the front page, and there, blurred across it is another heading, just more ink, more words, and I grin. A good argument, a good start. Today's gonna be fun. I swing out of bed. My feet hit the floor, forming sentences in my mind, forming a defence and an argument, both, depending on which side of the case she chooses to go for.

V is the first one to start, as I pull on my right sock, her voice prepared for a heavy defence, and mine for a last stance, and she calculates each word, and we count it down, and then she speaks, full of fun, and today, like every day this week will be fine, perfect in fact, her voice is like music,

"Me defence, you offence?"

I nod, and grin at her, arching my brow, my voice haughty,

"Ready?"

She licks her lips and tips her head,

"When you are Thorne,"

I take a deep breath and she starts on her own count, her voice convincing, and dripping with false enthusiasm,

"The court case of Antonin Dolohov, brought up for the fifth time in this New Year, after his escape from Azkaban last week, should go back to life imprisonment rather than the death penalty,"

I laugh softly, and respond in a serious tone, false, and though I am fighting for the side I do not support, I fight violently through my words, and do not back down, we do this often, pose as if in court, as if lawyers, as if someone bigger than we are, and the acting, the role play, it gives us a chance, a glance at a future we want, we need like oxygen.

I clear my throat, and then I speak,

"I disagree with this statement, he murdered the Prewetts and validation for his crimes was never rewarded to their family, death is not the answer, but an example must be made,"

She arches her brow, and shakes her head softly,

"Good luck arguing this one Rose, you don't even believe in it,"

I stick my tongue out at her, and grab my shoes and bag, one spray of perfume, a quick glance in the mirror, and I see a girl, eyes bright, ready for knowledge, for anything, and I tilt my head, no bags, no bruises. I sling my books over one shoulder, and we are down the stairs, through the sea of blue, the tapestry, a wave to the picture, out the door,

I continue,

"We live in a world where risk and pain are one in the same, murderers are able to escape Azkaban so easily, without even a wand or accomplice proves that this so called life sentence we banish them to, may not last their life, and as well, Azkaban is viewed as inhumane torture, as soulless corpses scrape at chained walls, hands hanging through bars, lacking the life to live, but still having the air."

I pause and take a breath outside of the great hall doors, and push them open, she listens to me give my speech as we walk, and I only continue when we arrive at the Gryffindor table, and the golden eyes, and they all are surprised by my indignant voice as we speak about such serious matters,

"It is pitying, so we must take pity, many say death is preferred then lifelong solitude, then lifelong depression, for that is not living, that is walking dead, with only enough food to keep your blood pumping, only enough water for you to not go thirsty."

I pause and put down my bag, and go on, and I feel it, his eyes, they find mine, as I take a seat next to him, giving him a slight shove in the other direction, and the slight contact is cherished, his shoulders are broad, his skin warm, and then go on,

"As Azkaban becomes hazardous, and only the Ministry is law and order, we, the people must take the step to encourage pity, to encourage understanding, they have killed, but do they deserve to be stripped of their humanity? Their desire to live? I think it's wrong, and therefore I stress my point that Dolohov's fifth trial this month should end in a different consequence."

Everyone is silent. And I could hear a pin drop, and I glance up at them, with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, and grin, and pick up the eggs, they are scrambled, and arch a brow, a satisfied expression gracing my face, obviously the Gryffindors are not yet used to me switching tables, and eating with them for my meals, and since James didn't complain about the sudden change in seating, no one did, and no one lifted a finger.

A tilt my head to the side, eyes dancing, and ask, voice full of a thick victory,

"Eggs anyone?"

Fred laughs softly and shakes his head, and V groans, going to yell at me that using moral grounds does not always win a case, because there is a possibility that it will be a discussion of law, and no morality, before V can state this, Dom pushes her slightly away, cutting her off as she leans across her to smile up at me, eyes bright in the morning light, a rare sight since she is always exhausted any time before twelve.

Her voice is chastising and endearing as she speaks, blonde hair slipping over delicate shoulders,

"Rose, you are bloody insane, _you know that?"_

I laugh and scrunch up my face at her, pocking her nose,

"I'm not insane; in fact my sanity is very intact,"

She nods slowly and shakes her head,

"Nope, _delusional,"_

I roll my eyes and look away, and up to my right, and he looks down at me, he is wearing his robes, slightly crinkled, and his hair is everywhere, and he studies me, tongue running over his teeth, and then he opens his god damn mouth,

"I disagree. Death is never the answer; we send them to Azkaban because we are no better than them if we kill them, and yes, they would be an example, but, other than that? That causes fear, you can be a ruler, a ministry that rules with fear or respect, you choose which."

I blink slow and open and close my mouth. The truth is I agree with everything he just said, me and V often play this game, whatever court case is taking place we re-enact, choosing random sides, and ignoring our own point of views, we play along like judges, lawyers, ministers.

V cuts in and grins patting James on the back, and laughing as she says,

" _YES_ James, see Rose, what was I telling you? I think this round belongs to me,"

I scoff, and spin away from James and glare at her,

"No _, no_ , listen James isn't even in our-"

She smiles big and winks at me and grabs onto his arm, hand snaking behind me and pulling him slightly closer to her and therefore me, voice dripping with false praise,

"James you're my second right?"

James looks at each of us slow, and I watch his white teeth flash, a hot tongue tracing his lips, a brow arched, eyes dancing with the flames of hell, and his voice is superior, and I hate to love it,

"Now V, how could I ever choose between _my_ two Ravenclaws?"

I feel a blush shine onto my cheeks, and I smile softly at him, and he winks, eyelashes brushing over his cheekbone, and I look down at my hands and back up, and V piles her plate high with delicious food, and I grin, watching her try to put some potatoes on my plate but I shriek and grab my plate, hitting her over the head, as she cowers, laughing.

Her hands going up in defence, she grins at me, teeth flashing,

"Come now Rose, you must be hungry, we ate dinner years ago,"

I raise my eyebrows, head shaking,

"You petty humans that require three meals a day need to evolve,"

She chokes on her water, spraying it everywhere, and Dom slams her hand down on her back, causing V to splutter and cough continuously. Dom grins at me, voice light with joy,

"I agree Rose; these weaklings need to rise to our level,"

And the three of us burst into laughter, eyes watering, and I shake my head, leaning into V, who is still trying to clean up the water that sprayed everywhere with her surprise.

And James cuts in, voice like silk, voice like heaven, and I try to ignore the fact that it is husky with morning, because that brings up images that get my heart racing, and I'd rather not turn into a tomato,

"And you Rose, need to rise to mine, for I am above all,"

I sigh, and send him a sceptical look, voice amused,

"That elitist attitude is gonna get you nowhere in life Potter,"

He smirks, tilting his head to the side, and lowering his voice a couple notches,

"What could you possibly mean? It got me to you, didn't it?"

I scoff, and narrow my eyes at him, but Roxy cuts in, plunking her bag down next to V, Lucy not far behind, and glares at James, groaning as she speaks,

"Let me ask you darling captain why you didn't tell us you cancelled practice today? You know how long we waited in the cold, with the snow, and the disgusting Hufflepuffs?"

I glance at James quizzically, listening to his hearty response,

"Well I thought you two needed a healthy reminder to wake up a little earlier and actually bother to go to practice, since you missed the last three days,"

There are one too many collective groans, as they crash onto the ground, and sigh, running a hand over their worn faces, and I lean over V and Dom, and take Roxy's hand in mine, murmuring,

"Ignore that evil bastard; you deserve a break from all the practices,"

I wait for an argumentative response, but James simply arches a brow and smiles softly, shaking his head. I return my full focus to Roxy, and she smiles at me, reaching over to grab one of Dom's waffles as she speaks,

"Who won the debate today?"

V groans at the same time that I do, and James' silky voice interjects,

"I did."

I roll my eyes, and when Lucy goes to ask, I simply shake my head, murmuring,

"Don't ask,"

And V laughs softly at my grieved facial expressions, and takes my hand, pressing it to her heart,

"I think your pride is hurt Rose, what, can't take a slap to your brilliance?"

And I simply nod, putting on a grand act of wiping tears, and sobbing, while clutching my chest, and Roxy and Lucy, ignoring us start to argue over Quidditch strategies, like every morning,

And I watch out of the corner of my eye James fill a plate with food, small portions for him, a small fruit salad, he picks out my favourite fruit, peaches, and a heart shaped waffle, spreading it with berry jam, and a scone with clotted cream, grabbing a cup of hot chocolate and sprinkling small rounded marshmallows onto its dark foaming liquid, and then to my surprise he places the platter in front of me, and smiles softly, his voice reminding me of a symphony,

"Eat."

I scoff and shift the plate towards him, our fingers grazing,

"I'm not hungry,"

He rolls his eyes, leaning closer,

"It's not healthy to not have breakfast,"

It is my turn to roll my eyes,

"It's overrated, breakfast, and I'm happy starving, thanks for the concern,"

He dips his head and grins,

"Just one bite?"

I shake my head, eyes dancing with his,

"No, one bite means giving in,"

He laughs out loud, sudden, and then grins, and I can feel a soft feeling, that grin is sensational,

"And you call me stubborn?"

I tilt my head, and he tilts his, and then I see the devils smirk, and he bites his lip and suddenly he is tickling me, hands whispering over my sides, and I am screeching, with laughter, with joy, and Dom is in defence mode trying to come to my rescue, but V holds her back, laughing as James attacks me with nibble fingers, and eventually, after long moments of torture, I hold my hands out, preventing him from coming any closer,

"Fine,"

My voice is breathless, and I repeat the statement,

"Fine,"

And I grab the fork and take a huge scoop of fruit and stuff it into my mouth, grabbing V's hand and dragging her to stand with me, but as I go to leave, James' voice stops me, endearing, lively,

"Love, you forgot something,"

And I glance over at him, and he quickly, hand moving at the speed of light, darts the scone between my lips, causing my teeth to clamp down to keep it in place and from falling, and I let out a muffled cry, as he simply arches a brow and ruffles my hair, standing and leaving, Fred, John, Lysander, Frank and Scamander trotting after him, shooting us amused looks.

The classes, Transfiguration, Care for Magical Creatures, both go by quickly in the mornings light, and on our way up to the castle I start to see people run, feet hitting the ground, as a crowd forms like a strike of lightning, and I feel it in my bones, the hum of excitement, and they feel it too, and so they dash by me, up to the castle, and taking the stairs two at a time, up and up, and into the crowd, into the hoard.

I hear yelling, or more like cheering, as if animals are crowded for a battle, cheering the fight, the blood lust. Disgusting if you ask me, fighting in a school of magic with your fists is undignified, childish, and so I skirt around the crowd, avoiding the anxious people, and their loud cries, a hand going to cover my ears. I have not seen many fights in Hogwarts with my own eyes, occasionally spells are thrown at each other, and words are crossed, with meanings they may not understand, but fists often are not used, and if they are it is in the quiet shadows, behind closed doors, where the blood cannot be seen and the bones cannot be heard breaking.

Things like this, public humiliation, it gets my blood pumping, but not with a lust, but a hatred, who are the cowards? To beat others, others that do not deserve the pain, others that do not deserve this worlds anger and pain, and I fear it, the fists that fly, the kicks, the brutal grunts, and my hands clasp over my ears, and my pulse thumps with each sound of the fist connecting with flesh.

Humans. We crave it, the pain, we crave for them to feel it, to kneel down, and so as the people fall, as the people are crushed, and they cheer with each blow. We want to be on the winning side, so we refuse empathy, because empathy leads to helping the weak and therefore becoming one of them, but I do not fear helping.

And as I walk, stumbling, and bumping into the mass of bodies crowded in the entrance hall of Hogwarts someone grabs my hand, their touch is oddly familiar, and it matches the bright green eyes, filled with an anger, and a fear. Albus Potter tugs on my arm, as if wanting me to follow him, but I dig my heels into the ground as he attempts to lead me into the heated mass of bodies, to the centre, to the fight. And my head is shaking, my hands steadying myself on his shoulders, and in those eyes, in the moment of haste, I can still hear the New Year's chimes, their arms around each other, their lips locked, and I feeling a turning in my stomach, not envy but a sickening grief. And so I back up, my voice brutal as he goes to reach for my arm again, to pull me into the crowd, and towards the crunching of flesh, and he does not wince from my harsh words, my voice trembling,

"What the hell Al?"

My voice is indignant, and he stops tugging me and turns to face me, face angered, and points with a shaking hand at the centre of the crowd,

"Rose you need to bloody stop him,"

His eyes are wild, and I give him a long look, a, _"are you sure your sane" look_ , and peer through the crowd, the bodies, the book bags, and what I see causes my hand to go to my face, covering it, and I rub my temples slowly, fingers shaking, just as Al's are. Why of course he'd be fighting, who else in this school would draw such a big crowd, who else in this school can make everyone watch him. _Huh? No one._ But why me? And my head is filled with the memories, sad ones, of the train ride before winter break, of how he was fighting then too, using his fists, not his wand, using his anger not his sense.

I turn to Albus with a desperate, _'are you kidding me right now'_ and turn to leave, shaking my head, but he grabs onto my hand, his fingers are cold, his eyes hold a haunted need, and they hunt for mine, and he wants me to stop him, he wants me to prevent him, but can I?

His voice is broken, frayed at the edges, his voice is heartless, a little cruel, a little sad, and his words are honest, and they hit me, and how can I refuse, his words are soft, but his gaze is strong,

"Rose you need to stop him from beating him senseless,"

I round on him, and give him a sharp glare,

" _IF_ you care so much stop him yourself, I'd rather not publically embarrass myself today, thanks for the opportunity though,"

And rip my hand out of his grip, eyes rolling, boys might be boys, but they can also be fools, and fists, or wands are never the answer, deep breathes, words, an occasional poem, and big tub of ice cream, _now that's the answer._

But Albus stops me from leaving with honest words, and I am therefore unable to leave, his voice suddenly broken as he speaks, as if cracked,

"He is fighting for me, though I never asked him too,"

He pauses, and shakes his head, eyes downcast,

"He is fighting because he thinks that is the answer, but he is wrong Rose, and if I stop him he will yell,"

His eyes find mine and go on,

"They call me names, faggot, whore, gay, disgusting- you name it, but I have never cared, they are words, and they do not define me, but James, his skin is thin, and he blames himself for my hardship so he cuts his knuckles as he hits them, he is like that,"

I stare into those green eyes and sigh internally. When had I been chosen to stop James from fighting? Where was V, or Dom, or James' jerk friends like Fred, or Prewett? Did they just not care? Or were they in this crowd cheering on the flying punches and spells?

And I slowly run a hand through my hair, and then push my book bag into Albus' hands and storm through the crowd, pushing people out of the way, until I can see the two boys struggling on the ground.

Thomas, the pureblood, is caught beneath James, wrists held with a firm hand as James draws back his fist and slams it into his face over and over, once, twice, and then James stands kicking with a golden heeled boot at the fallen figure, and he yells, his voice animalistic,

 _"Get up and fight me coward,"_

It is revolting, the look in James' eyes, and I look to the floor, and take a deep breath of my own, and remind myself this isn't him, it's the demons that plague him, but not him. Remember Rose, _not him._

James' fist connects with the skin of MacDougal's jaw and I hear a defining crack. There is no way James' punch would break his jaw? Right? And I look closer, there is a spell, a magic around him I have only heard of. And my mind remembers James' question in first year for Professor McGonagall, his voice was innocent, curious, he never spoke about work in class, and yet that day he did,

 _"Is there a way Professor to change your bones to steal, so that you cannot be destroyed,"_

I remember her nodding, her answer simple,

 _"Yes, but it is very advanced, one of the spells I am still attempting to master for long periods of time, and very painful. If you are not careful, your bones will not change back."_

I remember her going on,

 _"Transforming parts of yourself is a dangerous business, and often cannot be reversed by anyone but you,"_

I remember James' grin, the light in his eyes, as if he wanted to try it, more than anything, his voice was so young then, as he responded with a,

 _"But they won't be able to beat you Professor, so isn't the risk worth it?"_

And with that I look at the scene in front of me. James hands look normal but beneath skin and flesh metal shines with a deadly glint. And though it is a simple accusation, I cannot watch him hit the bully one more time anyways, and so conscious thought is thrown away, and I murmur,

 _"Crap"_

And suddenly I am pushing through the crowd, past the people, my hands desperate, he'll kill him, don't James, take a deep breath, don't kill him. He is knocked to the floor with a single kick. James goes untouched, he looks like a god, or like a demon with hands balled in fists, and his eyes hold a hatred, an anger at everything. He raises his foot and his fist at the same time, he will not hold back, and I am running. I don't say a word my lips can't move but I am skidding on the floor and I throw myself on top of the fallen boy with the shattered jaw, his sobs echoing like monsters in my mind.

I can feel the weakness, the fear rise from him, and I protect, and I raise my head, and James' fist comes down for the fatal blow. One, fingernails a second from my skin. Two, I can see the dust on his shoes, the blood on his knuckles, and then, Three, our eyes meet. And his hand stops millimetres from my skin.

And we stare at each other. In horror. And so very softly I whisper,

 _"James stop it. That's enough, that's enough now…"_

He laughs loud, it echoes in that baron mind of mine, and I can feel the boy beneath me shake, and I find his hand, the boys hand, and as I stand I lift him with me. I can feel Thomas' hands wrap around me, as I support him, I can feel the blood from his cuts on my hands, and his breath on my cheek, he leans on me, though we are strangers, he is close, and slowly his hands go limp, and he begins to fall and I clutch onto him, legs shaking, and I feel their eyes, they watch me, the scene, and they wonder.

As they watch me, I watch James, as if watching a predator springed to leap. But he does not, he watches me, bewildered, lost, his eyes full of a rage.

My voice is clear; it surprises me, just how much it does not shake,

"Someone get him to the infirmary, and clear these areas, class starts in 33 seconds, don't be late."

Everyone whispers away, the boys hand slips from mine, and so does his tear stains, drying in the cold dank wind of the corridor. I look to Albus. But his eyes are not on me, but the raging boy before us, and then he looks at me, and his eyes ask me if I can really handle him, the monsters in his eyes, the steal beneath his flesh, because Albus cannot, he cannot control him. And a shudder goes through me, and a realisation, neither can I, no one can. But I can calm him down.

James walks away, up the stairs his hand trailing on the banister leaving traces of the thick red substance.

I trail after him, at first a few feet away, and then a few meters, until we stand far apart. And then he is turning and running at me, he stops just centimetres away, and his voice his harsh, but I expected it, so I am prepared, because he doesn't mean it, and so his words hit, like bullets, like rain, but my thoughts make them soft,

"What the hell Rose, _this,"_

He steps back and takes a finger and gestures to both of us, running a tongue through his mouth, and sticking it into his cheek, eyes rolling,

"This doesn't poteen to that,"

I tilt my head to the side,

" _To what?_ The guy you were gonna kill?"

He laughs, but not because he finds it funny, and steps closer, and whispers, dark, hating,

"Rose I was going to punch him, give him a beating to remember, but kill? Are you kidding me, _stop exaggerating,"_

He pauses and licks his lips slow,

"Since when were you my mother? Since when did you care who I beat up?"

I nod slowly, and smile softly, and watch him. And when I speak my voice is oddly calming, oddly sincere,

"Transform back James, unless I'm wrong, unless if you punched that wall right there it wouldn't crack."

His eyes are surprised, and with the surprise I grin softly,

"So you can do that kind of magic?! James, _that's crazy advanced,"_

He blinks slow, and after a long pause he takes out his wand, and without even having to say an incantation he flicks the wand in circles and I watch in a horrible fascination as from his veins, his pores, his skin thin soft, dark silver liquid whispers out, turning in the air, and it is liquid metal, and I can see the steam of it, as if it is hot, searing, and with a single blink and a flick it disappears.

We wait in silence and when I speak my voice sings a different tune,

"James, you weren't going to- _you wouldn't have?"_

He laughs, harsh,

"What killed him? Is that what you think of me Rose, a cold blooded murderer, who can't restrain himself?"

I swallow hard, and shake my head, is that what I think of him? No, I have never seen him like this before, raging, and I fear it, yes, because I never knew he was like this, so different. He licks his lips and steps closer, but I stand my ground, and his words are vile, but strangely real,

"Don't you think he'd already be dead if I wanted him gone? Don't you think if I can do that magic, I can do things worse than it?"

I swallow again, and look down, and my voice is silent as I speak, so soft I wonder if he hears it,

"Were you going to kill him, _honest?"_

He doesn't answer, tilting his head back, and I reach for his arm but he steps back, his eyes hold an anger that still has not dispersed, I have never seen him like this, I would never have guessed he could be like this. Eventually he speaks,

"Yes. I think I would have, but not intentionally,"

His voice is hollow, and honest, and I can feel it, a trickle of fear, why? Does that make him a murderer, should I run? But there is another man I would be leaving behind, a man I think my heart belongs to, that is trapped behind those demons, so I do not run. I step closer.

"You would have gotten expelled; you would have regretted, right James? Regretted it? Because that's what we do when we kill something, we regret, right?"

He licks his lips, and turns around, running a hand through his hair, and his voice is deep, gravely, but I do not find it attractive, but dangerous,

"I didn't think that far ahead, I never do, I live how I want to, and he got in the way."

I shrink back and wince,

"Liar. I saw your eyes"

Suddenly his arms have me trapped and our eyes are inches apart, and I see all his emotions, and he yells loud,

"And what did you see? Huh Rose, tell me, what do you see?"

I do not leave, I do not push him away, and I answer,

"I see a boy, he is not what he says he is, in his heart he is still a child, but he knows things, things that do not make him a child, they make him unstoppable, and powerful, and terrifying…."

I blink softly, and look back; his eyes never leave mine,

"But I also see a fear, soft, and hardly there, but in the shadows, just beyond his pupil I see a fear of being responsible, of killing, of himself."

He shakes his head and pulls away, hands scratching at his skin, fingers pressed into the flesh.

"He deserved it."

I laugh full out, but like his laughter it is not because I am amused,

"Really James, what, he called Albus queer, fagot, he started dating Sheila, so what? She is not your property, neither of them are,"

He goes to speak but I shake my head and give him a very stern look,

"Shut it and listen. If I had not been there, you would be on that floor, with a dead body next to you, why? Because someone stole your girl? Because he doesn't respect your god damn name?"

I can see the anger raging, and he goes to speak again, but I shake my head again and again, my hand going and covering his mouth,

"Potter, you are a child, and yet, you can do things, spells, magic that some of the most advanced witches and wizards cannot accomplish with such ease, so therefore, you better get your head on straight, because that kind of magic, it is not for everyday use, it is not to make you look cool, it is to make you powerful."

And I step back, hand slipping from his face and murmur,

"I often wonder what you're doing in Gryffindor, you're brave, very, but you are foolish, blind, you want power? So what, anyone who says they don't like your hair cut, you break their neck?"

He licks his lips, and I wait for him to talk and when he does his voice is heavy.

"He said, he said he would kill him, Albus."

I look at him with sharp eyes and sigh softly. We are quiet, and when I speak I do not hold an anger, just a soft tone, almost motherly, almost friendly, _almost_.

"Why do you think Albus announced to the world when he was in first year that he liked guys?"

He looks at me surprised by the question. And when he does not answer I continue,

"It wasn't because he wanted them to know, it was because he wanted to be himself. And Albus, he is not afraid of their words, he does not fear their threats, why? Because he chose them, the threats, all of it."

I slowly take his hand and go on,

"Albus wants to be himself, he wants people to either like or dislike him, or just deal because he isn't changing. Albus holds the power in being himself. He is brave on a level you and I cannot understand, and he does not need you to protect him James, he is not weak, he is strong, he is indestructible because he is confident in who he is."

James watches me with those eyes and slowly that rage leaves them as my words spill,

"Imagine James, being told you could not love the person that means the world to you because society says it's wrong, because there are people in society that judge, endlessly. Imagine only being able to talk to them in the shadows, behind closed doors, never outside."

I swallow hard, and look down at our interlaced fingers,

"I cannot imagine that, because I would want to be proud of the person I love, whoever that may be. Albus, he does not want it to be a big deal James, he does not, and yet, you make it into one, and he loves you for it, because he knows that you think that that is all that you can do to protect him, but he is wrong James."

Slowly I take his other hand,

"You can tell John Prewett to stop making jokes about sexuality, you can tell your friends to stop treating Malfoy like crap. You can tell your family that Albus should be able to bring home guys, whenever he wants, you should be able to buy gifts for his boyfriends, you should encourage Albus to invite his boyfriend's home, to meet your family. You should support, not fight, not bring attention. Because then Albus is not the one who is powerful, he is the one that is weak and needs his big brother and his iron fists to protect him."

He is shaking his head and yells loud, ripping his hand from mine,

"HE'S MY BROTHER ROSE,"

I nod again, and step forward, eyes wary,

"He wants your respect James, your approval, if you have to defend them for calling him what he is, gay, then are you not proud of him, are you?"

His eyes are hurt and he screams, loud, and I scrunch my eyes closed and step back, I have never seen him like this, and I watch his back hit the wall, and he slides down until he hits the floor, long legs extending before him, and he hits his head against the brick, voice broken as he speaks,

"I love Albus more than I love myself, I would die for him, I would live for him- I,"

He blinks slow and bites his lip, his eyes empty from the happiness that I see there so often, and slowly I crouch down next to him, and he looks away from me, his voice thick,

"Rose, leave me alone, please, this, this me is different,"

I sigh softly and lean my head against the wall, and smile softly at him, my gaze honest and tender,

"I'm not leaving, not until you calm down,"

He watches me, eyes curious, and laughs, rough, the sound reminds me of a sob, or a shriek, and his voice reminds me of a battle, of gunfire, and smoke,

"I can't figure you out Black, you don't like when I'm nice, and yet you stay when I'm disgusting,"

I shake my head and look up at the ceiling,

"When I'm angry I always wished someone would just stay and wait, because that's all we need, someone who will wait for you, through whatever,"

He looks down at his hands, head hanging, and when he finally speaks, he sounds calmer, more at ease, not yet the James I know, but closer to that man,

"Albus used to deny it, when he was younger I teased him, I said him and his friends acted like boyfriends, it was jokes,"

He pauses and laughs harshly, eyes lost,

"But they weren't funny, they were rude, and now here I am, beating up guys that are rude to him like I was, saying nicer things than I was."

I can feel a sadness wash over him, like a curtain, like a storm, and he goes on, voice broken,

"And I beat them up, because someone should have beat me up, should have told me to shut my god damn mouth, because I hurt him Rose, and he still had the courage to tell the world,"

I have never seen him cry, and yet here, sprawled on the floor with bloodied knuckles, and shadows that are prominent under a heavy gaze, I can see a single tear trace his cheek, and he does not blink, he stares, as if he can see it all before him, everything. I do not reach for him, but my words do, and I speak softly,

"You were young James, no one had ever told you better,"

He cuts me off with a loud **NO** , his voice brutal, almost like a slap, but I don't wince.

He shakes his head, over and over,

"There is no excuse Rose, and we shouldn't try to find one for our mistakes, it's our bloody mess, we should at least have the backbone to clean it up,"

I arch a brow, and let out a breath,

"Beating them up doesn't clean up your mess James, but makes it bigger. Albus wants you on his side, that doesn't mean you need to preach to the world about your personal views, it's the little things, like not bringing everyone's attention onto him by beating a guy up with steal fists."

James looks at me, gaze broken. His voice is soft; I can hardly hear it,

"The thing is I have never cared about who people love, so why should anyone? It isn't anyone's business who they love, it's theirs, private. So I don't understand, why tell the world? Why bring the attention on you?"

He shakes his head, dark locks falling in his eyes, and a lull over his words, and finally respond, bumping him with my shoulder,

"Because he is proud of who he is, and he wants them to know, and he doesn't care what they think, or what they say, or if it hurts their feelings…"

I nod a couple times, and lean into James, pocking his cheek with my index finger,

"What would you do James if you loved Sheila, or me, or someone, wouldn't you want to show them to the world? To be proud of them instead of hiding behind shadows, behind locked doors, pretending, always wondering if people would treat you differently because of who you love?"

He glances at me, gaze honest, his eyes shine like diamonds, the gold caught on fire, and the soft tear trembles on his chin, and then falls and disappears, and with it, the last bit of rage. He is silent, but when he speaks my breath trembles,

"I would scream it from the rooftop of the highest building, and make everyone listen, even if they didn't want to. I'd be proud."

I nod slowly and sigh, resting my head on his shoulder,

"Yeah, me too…."

He glances down at me and smiles softly. And eventually he speaks, his words kind,

"Thank you for waiting…"

I smile up at him and nod small, it's an understanding. And the minutes pass like this, and then I speak up, my voice comical, and slightly concerned,

"Do you think Professor Trelawney will kill me for being late to her class?"

He laughs; it reminds me of the ringing of bells,

"Nah, she loves you, more than she loves anyone else,"

I giggle and stretch as I stand, extending my hand, and waiting for him to take it so I can pull him up after me, but when he does not take it, I question,

"You're not coming?"

He shakes his head and slouches further into the wall, eyes closing, voice rough,

"I have to report to McGonagall's office, for fighting again….. I'm prolonging that trip,"

I grin and nod my head, turning on my heels, and I look back at the glowering boy, eyes wide, lower lip trembling, his face attempting to convince me to pity him and just skip Divination, but instead I laugh and shake my head, calling over my shoulder,

"Cheer up James, MacDougal is still breathing, and we have successfully avoided attempted murder,"

I hear his booming laughter as I walk away.

Divination class is quiet as I walk in, but Professor Trelawney simply looks me up and down and nods her head a couple times, making no complaint for my very late arrival. James is right; she probably wouldn't care if I showed up straight naked. I take my seat and look at the empty seat next to me, where James sits, and smile softly, tucking my hair behind my ear as I take out my books.

And there in my book bag, right at the back is the worn down book, his initials in swirling gold, his diary from years ago. For the weeks we have been back, and the weeks that have passed since Christmas morning I have not opened it, but carried it around, treasuring the intimacy of it, the intimacy of the idea of it.

My hand traces the broken spine, and I smile full of wonder, I may not trust him, but isn't that gift I symbol of his trust for me?

I close my eyes softly, and I can feel it, a sliver of heaven brushing at my fingertips, a sliver of hope, a sliver of forever, if that exists.

Everyone files out of the classroom, and I usher V and the rest to go on without me, Dom's words from weeks ago ringing in my ears, her voice scared, her hands finding mine in the sheets, the window slamming open, the blood stained letter.

Trelawney makes her way to her back office, her cane hits the floor with the rhythm of a heartbeat, and I follow her silently, eyes curious. She does not turn around as she sits, and she is silent, and in her silence I listen to the still, and I wait for her acknowledgment.

Eventually her cracked voice speaks up, like years and days and eons she has all seen, and her words send a chill of the reckoning down my spine, and there is a mist in the air, a mystery in the fragrances that dull your senses.

And so she murmurs, from her perch on the rocking chair across the room, voice like a snakes hiss,

"I've been expecting you Rose,"

A shiver runs over me, chasing at the demons, and I clear my throat, and step closer, listening to her go on,

"You have been avoiding me Rose, your conscious does not wish to meet me,"

I blink, and she lifts a tired hand and gestures to a chair next to her, and I take a seat, my bag bumping to the floor. And I watch her, her eyes do not look at me, her ears do not hear me, she does not require my touch, and yet she knows me.

She licks her lips, voice like the scratch of a quill,

"You have a question Rose, ask me it…"

My eyes find hers, and I look into them, they are heavy with burden, but at the same time, they are crazed, insane, ready to spring,

I blink slow, and turn my head to the side, finding the ground, and I speak, my tone guarded,

"I have too many questions, and too many fears,"

She nods her head, voice whispering all around me,

"You want to know what fate has in store for you,"

I nod slow, copying her previous gesture, and she laughs, like the murmur of leaves,

"I do not know Rose, fate does not tell me…. But you can, you know it all, you must simply remember,"

I lean forward, my voice as soft as hers,

"Remember what? Professor?"

Her hands tremble, and she smiles slowly,

"There is an alleyway, I can see a monster and a child, there is a song, it has no rhythm, it has no beginning, no end,"

She turns her head, her eyes stare into mine, and her smile is sad, as if she can see tragedy after tragedy,

"But you know the beginning don't you dear?"'

My eyes are confused, and I think back, a song with no rhythm, no beginning, no end, but I cannot remember, I cannot understand, so she goes on,

"Ash, fire, bone, flesh, songs, they ask of you to take their hand, did you take their hand Rose?"

I blink hard, and suddenly there is the scraping on the walls, I can feel their eyes, the darkness knows me well, and there is skin see through, and hearts caged, and my memoires, others, and words, and they are coming from my lips, and she is ripping her own flesh, as she rips mine, because we are one in the same, and now it is my hands that tremble and so I whisper,

 _"Through flesh and bone and song of old,"_

She laughs softly, voice distant as she speaks,

"Examine their speech my dear, the words of those unknown, the words of those left behind, were you left behind Rose?"

I turn to face her, eyes gaunt, and then she speaks, her voice hoarse, her words harsh, and I am caught up in the lullaby she murmurs,

"Black a name you should explore, shouldn't you dear? It's your name after all,"

I stare at her, head shaking, and reach for her hand, her skin is wrinkled, and cold, so very cold, and she takes a breath, and her breath is cold, no life to it, and it reminds me of something, at the tip of my mind, but out of reach,

And I shake my head again, my voice a whisper,

"No Professor, I'm Rose, Rose BlackThorne,"

But she is already murmuring again, her hand clutching mine until her grip is suffocating, and I try to pull away my wrist from her touch, but her fingers are like claws, and her voice is harsh,

"You love him Bella, don't you? The monster, do you know what he plans, he plans to ruin it all for them Bella,"

My breath is ragged, and I rip my wrist from her grip, and stand, hands shaking as she goes on,

"You love him Bellatrix so you must know what he plans to do, what does he plan to do?"

I am stumbling back head shaking, whispering no over and over, but she does not hear me and goes on, eyes wide, as if she is speaking to someone else,

"Tom, you came to visit me, how kind, you want answers don't you Tom? But I do not have the answers, I cannot read fate,"

The wall is on my back, Tom, Bellatrix? Is she thinking I am them? Monsters, the people that caused all of this pain, all of this hurt, does she really think, how could she think, how could she?

Her voice echoes in my mind, her words are important but I do not understand them, or the importance of them, and she goes on, insane, high pitched,

"Harry- oh my poor boy you are destined to fail, even after death you will not escape him, not for centuries"

And I watch her, her hands tremble, her breath shakes, and then she speaks of someone else, and I feel my legs give way, and I am hitting the ground, and her words rain down on me,

"Rose, you must save him, at all costs, no matter how many die, you cannot let them have him, he is gifted Rose, you must know, you must-"

And I am crawling, grabbing onto her shoulders and shaking her, eyes wide,

"Know what? Who? Who can't die? Who Professor? Professor?"

Professor Trelawney blinks and looks at me, eyes surprised, and her voice changes, from gone to very real,

"What did you say dear? Rose, my goodness, go to lunch,"

And I stare at her, eyes wide, and blink hard, standing on shaking legs, and nod my head over and over, grabbing my book bag and backing out of the room. Down the ladder, through the maze of corridors to the 4th floor bathroom, where I collapse, my hands grip the ledge of the counter top, my eyes wide.

Bellatrix Lestrange. Tom Riddle. Harry Potter. Her cracked voice was speaking to them, of past students, all three, no all four of us had stood before her, in that same room, and had asked, had asked one question out of thousands, and I wonder how much the aging woman knows? People look down on divination, but I fear it, the future and the past, knowing both and how they interlace is a burden I cannot face, I am pleased with not facing.

She was speaking to me though; she was saying I had to save him, that he was gifted. And though my conscious thought says it cannot be him, I know no other him who can do what he can do. So my wide eyes close.

And as I close them I am back on the train, weeks ago, and I can see me and Dom, condensation, I am drawing a heart, her eyes know me, don't they? Why does this memory bother me, why does this memory never leave, what happened next? What did she do next?

Why had the cold of Trelawney's breath scared me? Why did it remind me so much of Dom, of that train ride, of the window?

I open my eyes and stare at my reflection, my eyes are empty, and there are shadows in them, I let out a breath, and it clouds the mirror, just like the glass window of the train, and why does it cloud the mirror, my breath, because it is hot, it is alive, I am alive. Right? Right.

I reach my hand up and my eyes follow my finger as I trace a heart in the steamy fog, clearing away the condensation and dew. I bite my lip. Studying the image before me I can still not understand why that moment was so important.

The sound of the tap turning on causes me to come to my senses, and I turn my head to the side, and stop short when I see who stands beside me. Sheila.

She glances over at me, and waves her wand, dry air emitting from its chestnut tip and drying her palms. She studies me for a moment, and smiles, walking over,

"You okay? You've been staring at that mirror for some time,"

I cannot seem to respond, but then laugh softly, and nod, my voice slightly broken,

"Yeah, I'm good,"

She nods and smiles reassuringly and turns to go, but I stop her, my sudden confidence surprising me,

"Are you okay?"

She stops and turns her head, eyes vacant slightly, and then smiles, see through,

"Why wouldn't I be?"

I step closer, until we are parallel, and I am fascinated, in her, in her brain, her mind, her feelings, and so I am blatant, and I state, not a question, but a fact,

"You broke up with James Potter."

She swallows and laughs; voice high when she speaks again, a touch annoyed, a touch offended,

"Is that all I am to be known as now, his ex?"

I bite my lip and shake my head, my voice reassuring,

"No. Who you are perceived as depends on you,"

She looks slightly taken aback, and ponders the fact for a moment, and then she answers, her voice harsh,

"I think at least 90 people have asked me that today, if I'm okay,"

I tilt my head and step slightly closer, and so she goes on,

"And I am, I shouldn't be, but I am, and ninety is a lot less than yesterday, and the day before, and the week before."

She pauses, and shifts the weight of her book bag to the other shoulder, and then goes on,

"You would think by now people would have given up with asking if I'm okay, do you see them asking if he is? No. Of course you don't,"

I blink softly, and I slowly walk by her, but her voice stops me, with a sudden judgement, and realisation,

"You're Rose, aren't you? James' Rose,"

I stop walking. And I feel it, the tension, the sudden understanding between us, and my voice is afraid when I speak,

"James' Rose?"

She ponders the question, and then, she speaks,

"Yes. They notice everything he does, the rumours you went to his house for the winter, the rumours that you stopped him from beating Thomas, the rumours you sit at his table in the mornings, the rumours that he smiles at you,"

I shake my head, and turn to face her, eyes indignant,

"I am no ones, no one's but my own,"

She raises her eyebrows, and laughs softly, head shaking,

"Have you ever asked him if he agrees with that?"

I shake my head softly, and she arches a brow, and steps forward until we are close,

"I am torn between wishing you good luck or hexing you,"

I tilt my head to the side, my eyes hold a curiosity in her next action, and my voice is honest when I speak,

"If I were you, I would do both, just for good measure,"

She scoffs, eyes surprised, and steps closer,

"Are you requesting that I hex you?"

I shake my head, and smile softly,

"No, but I deserve it, don't I? Think about it, I'm next in line, not even a month after he is done with you, it's like there is no respect, was there ever any respect?"

She grabs onto my collar, her grip is harsh, her eyes pained, and her voice deadly, but I don't wince, I respect her, she deserves to be angry, at me, doesn't someone? Her voice is broken with a hidden pain, and so she speaks,

"Are you trying to provoke me?"

I shake my head, and we gaze at each other, and my voice is just a whisper but she hears it,

"No, but you shouldn't bottle it up, your rage,"

I pause, and look down, and back up,

"James told me you said you never loved him, but I think you are a liar Sheila, I think it is impossible not to fall in love with him, but impressive, he didn't notice the acting,"

And then her wand is in her hand and the spell is leaving her lips, the words is harsh, she yells it,

"Asciendo!"

And I am thrown into the air, high until I hit the ceiling and then I hover there for a moment until I crash down onto the floor, and she is gone, the bathroom door slamming on her way out. And I lay there.

My first thought is ouch. And my second thought is thank god she isn't good at the spell, because it could have done a lot more damage. My third thought, is that I hope my homework survived the toss. And my fourth, to make sure I don't have any broken bones.

With that thought I scramble slowly to my feet, and assess the damage. Right on my cheek is a large gash, and I can see a trickle of blood running down, over my lip, it tastes salty. My head will probably bruise, along with my back, and I think my right big toe is broken, looking at my legs I can see a cut on my lower thigh, but other than that I am fine.

I also am happy that I can do nonverbal spells, like protego, which is a weak spell, so easy to do without speech, which without me murmuring before she screamed the spell and I went flying probably would have left me with a broken arm at the least.

I sigh, and study my reflection and then I smile softly, so I was right, she did love James, perhaps more than I thought she did. And my respect for her swells, she had the strength to push him away; because he was not good for her, he was like a drug, an alcohol, and she realised she needed to abstain. And I respect that.

I pull my hair away from my face, and I don't go to heal the cuts and bruises, I deserved it, so I will bear them until they heal naturally, and I walk out of that bathroom with my head held high, and down the stairs, and into the great hall.

And I see V wave for me to come join them at the Gryffindor table, and I smile, and walk towards them, James' back is to me, and I pause in my steps and look down the table, at Sheila, who glances up from her conversation, and looks at me with inquisitive eyes, and I nod to her, and she blinks slow, and looks away, back to her food.

Dom is the first one to notice the cuts and bruises, and she lets out a shriek and is out of her seat in seconds grabbing onto my face, her words loud,

"WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL THORNE,"

I duck my eyes, and give her a subtle glare, my voice growling at her,

"Calm down Dom, I'm fine, okay?"

She laughs high, in hysterics and grabs onto Vs arm, dragging her up and smashing her face towards mine, pointing at my face,

"V, tell me what that looks like?"

I glare at them both, as I watch V's mouth fall open, and I reach over and give her jaw a nudge so that it snaps shut loudly. And push past them, taking a seat, and V rushes over, turning my face with her hands,

"Who the hell beat you up? Are you getting in fights now Rose, do you need mental help? Does it hurt? Merlin, is this why you are late to lunch? What did you and Trelawney get in a fist fight while you were at it?"

I push her away and grab a sandwich from the golden plate before me, and shake my head, eyes telling them to calm down, but keeping my voice steady,

"No, I didn't get beat up, I didn't get in a fight, I do not need mental help, it doesn't hurt, yes this is why I am late, and no, my meeting with Professor Trelawney went fine, now sit down, and eat lunch,"

V glares at me while Dom nudges Fred Weasley to scoot over so that she can sit next to me, and V does the same on the other side. And I bend my head down and start to eat, but then I feel it, electrocuting, a gaze that could murder, golden, hazel, and coming from right across the table, and I slowly swallow my bite as I raise my gaze and look at James Sirius Potter.

He examines my face with an incredulous gaze, and slowly he leans forward, and when he speaks his voice is deadly,

"Who. Did. This. To. You."

I take another bite of my sandwich, and glance around at the eyes on me, and I scoff, eyes rolling, I take out my wand and flick it murmuring the incantation softly, and a tissue spouts from the tip, and I take it, delicately pressing it to the wound on my face, and mopping up the blood, I wince, and close my eyes, ouch. It does hurt, as much as I would like to say it doesn't. And a large hand places over mine, his touch is callused, soft, and has never been this open before, and my eyes flutter open, and he replaces my hand with his own, softly running the tissue over the wet blood that spills down my face.

And when he speaks again, his voice is soft,

"Come on; let's go get you cleaned up,"

I stare at him, and look down at my sandwich, and he rolls his eyes, smiling softly, as he grabs three more of the sandwiches and a pumpkin pasty and wraps them in one of the crimson napkins, as he stands, and instead of walking around the table to me, like a normal person, he puts a foot on the bench and kicks off, summersaulting over the table and landing directly behind me, and he leans down, so that his voice is murmuring on my neck,

 _"Coming?"_

I bite the inside of my cheek, and glance at Dom and V, who glare at me, with a friend who will not give up till there is vengeance look, and I laugh softly, and stand, grabbing both of their hands and dragging them with me.

And this was the first time the eyes followed not just James, but me. Hundreds of greedy gazes, hunting me, wondering who I am, how long I'll last, and my steps falter, and I gaze out at them, the sea of curiosity, and I blink hard, what was I supposed to do? To prove to them that I am different, am I? Aren't I?

And I feel James look at me, and then out at the rest of them, the crowds before us, at each of the four long tables, and I wonder what he is thinking, if he has any idea how much this all affects us.

When we arrive at the Ravenclaw dorm room, and climb up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, I come to another sudden realisation, this is the first time James has been in my house, my home, my room, my world.

And I watch his gaze linger over my things, over the strewn papers, the crowded desk full of speeches, spells, homework, poetry. The stacks of books that line the walls, most of them books he bought me, and I see the smile in his eyes as he notices that. The window frame, my cat that lazily rolls over and licks her paw on us entering, my empty owl cage. And I turn away from watching him analyse everything and go into the bathroom, grabbing some bandages, and then sitting cross legged on the floor, Dom sits next to me, and takes out her wand murmuring the spell quickly,

"Anapneo"

And I feel the gash heal softly, and I also feel his piercing gaze, as Dom goes to speak,

"What happened Rose?"

I blink softly, and look down at the floor, and then out to the window, the sun is high in the sky, and I watch it creep higher, and close my eyes, enjoying its soft light. And eventually I speak, honest,

"I got what I deserved,"

I open my eyes as I speak, and V shoots me a sharp look, while Dom repeats the same spell on my leg, and I can feel the hazel orbs watch me, and with the rustle of clothing he stands and walks over to the window, peering out, and silently listening to our conversation,

Dom goes on,

"You mean to tell me you did such a bad thing that you deserved to be hit?"

I go to nod, but his crystal voice breaks me off, as he speaks he turns to face us, and his voice is confident, a little concerned, a tad pissed off, but mostly confident, arrogant, and it is addicting,

"She wasn't hit; she was hexed with a bad Asciendo spell, right? And looking from the wet splotches on her robes it was in one of the bathrooms, and since she talked with Professor Trelawney, it would have to be one of the bathrooms closer to the divination tower, so fourth years girls bathroom? Right, Rose?"

I feel my lips part as I stare at him, and he grins at my shock and winks, arching a brow, and repeating,

"Right Rose?"

I roll my eyes and groan, and nod,

"Yes, but- I'm fine, honest Dom,"

Dom glances from James to me, and sighs, muttering under her breath,

"You know how difficult it is to be surrounded by smart people all the time? How are morons like me supposed to keep up?"

James chuckles at her comments and crouches down next to me ruffling her hair while grinning,

"Don't worry Dom; no one can keep up with me,"

I laugh softly at that, and raise my eyebrows at him, and we gaze at each other for a moment, until V clears her throat, and changes the topic, her voice soft as she speaks,

"It looks like you both got in fights today, is that simply irony or related?"

I glance at V, her gaze digs into me, and I lower my eyes, and then look at James, my voice sudden, and a little concerned,

"Yeah Potter, what the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in McGonagall's office waiting for your parents?"

He groans, and flops down onto the ground, bending one leg and the other lying flat, his right hand going under his head to support it, and drowsily closing his eyes as he speaks,

"Mhmmm, but darling mum and dad can't make it today, so I'm getting off scot free, _aren't I lucky?"_

I try to look past his sarcastic and nonchalant attitude, but I find it difficult, and bite my lip, and glance at Dom, she gives me a long look and shakes her head softly, V finally speaks up again, breaking the awkward silence,

"We should have a sleep over tonight, don't you think?"

I grin, and lie my head down on her shoulder, grinning back up at her,

"Yes, brilliant, we'll raid the kitchens, and it'll be just like old times,"

A velvet voice from beside me rings through the room,

"I agree, let's all sleep in the same bed, and braid each other's hair, and talk about our crushes, won't it be just great?"

I choke on my saliva, and glance at the smirking boy next to me, and shake my head repeatedly,

"You're not invited Potter,"

He perches himself up, and arches a defined brow,

"You said ' _we'_ didn't you V, you wouldn't deny me, would you?"

I send V and outraged look, and V simply laughs and shakes her head, standing as she speaks,

"Don't you dare make me choose between the two of you!"

I smile at her retreating form, and flop down next to James, turning to face him on my side,

"See, she definitely loves me more,"

He scoots closer, and his eyes dance with amusement,

"Really? Rose, this is a first, bringing up love all on your own,"

I grin, and wiggle my eyebrows, eyes smiling at him,

"I thought buff guys like you had never heard of it, love,"

He reaches over and tucks a piece of stray hair behind my ear, his fingers are warm, and we are both bathed in sunlight, and I feel him chuckle, and he goes to lean closer but Dom's foot stomps between us, and we both jerk up, smiles disappearing, and she watches both of us evilly,

"What's with you two? Are you dating?"

At that Potter smirks and goes to reach for my hand, but I giggle and slap it away, shaking my head,

"Dom, what do you mean dating? This rascal? Are you sane?"

She looks over at each of us, and laughs hard, and then slaps James over the head, and he fauns shock, clutching his precious hair, eyes dancing, Dom's voice is indignant,

"Nope, no way James, no way can you get my best friend,"

James stands smoothly, and backs up softly, and then turns to leave calling over his shoulder,

"No promises Dom,"

And she shrieks, going to scream at him but he ducks out of the room, following V's retreating form. And once he is gone, I feel Dom's arms wrap around me from behind, and I lean into the familiar touch, and her voice is honest and wise when she speaks,

"Rose I've seen that look in your eyes in the mirror before,"

I blink slow and turn my head slightly, and she sighs, and goes on,

"When you love someone, or care, or like, whatever word you want to call it, you get this happiness, you get this endless joy in your eyes,"

I blink slowly, and turn to face her, and when I finally speak my voice is soft,

"I am scared…."

She nods, and runs a finger over the healing cut on my cheek,

"Who did this to you?"

And now that it is just us two, I respond, voice soft,

"Sheila….But I asked her to,"

I can see anger, confusion, love, flash over her face, and she settles on curiosity, and her voice is anxious as she speaks,

"Why the hell did you ask her too?"

I blink slow, and lower my gaze,

"Because she deserves to, imagine if you were her, and she loved him Dom, and now I am here, if I was her I would feel so defeated, how James didn't even pause, didn't even stop, because she was simply not that important, but then again can you blame him?"

I shake my head, and lower my gaze. And repeat the words I seem to keep saying,

"I'm okay…"

She stares at me for a moment and then nods, as she speaks, her voice reminds me of a mother, a friend, someone as close as family, and that's what they are, family,

"One day that lie will become true,"

I blink slowly, and there is a sudden surge of emotion and I am back on that train, and she is next to me, and we both take a breath and my half of the window becomes clouded with dew, but hers doesn't. Her breath doesn't cause condensation when it should. And I know why, because she is not alive, her breath is not hot, it is cold, like ice, like the alleyways at night, like the orphanage that creaks when the cold winter wind slips through it.

I blink again and the semi clouded window fades and I stare at Dom for a few seconds, and she notices me staring and starts to stare at me, making her eyes wider, and giggling,

"What?"

I blink and then shake my head taking a deep breath. And murmur softly,

"Nothing…."

I go and stand and walk over picking up my bag, and she jogs to catch up to me, and smiles big, bumping my shoulder, her voice taunting,

"To me it seems like your love life is becoming very complicated,"

I glance at her, eyes wide,

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She grins and nudges my shoulder,

"I saw Al and Scorp snuggled pretty close in the library today…."

And with her words I am spun back in time, to New Year's Eve, the huge party, the champagne glasses, the shine of diamonds, there is laughter and elegant music, and me, escaping it all, resting my head in the gardens, lost in the maze of flowers. I remember now.

The scene was that of a movie, they are both so beautiful, and they counted down together, Scorpius and Albus, arms entangled around each other, and they counted down the strikes till midnight, each one haunting, and then there are shouts, there are yells, and everyone is happy, glowing with a joy, and I can feel it, hell and heaven crashing together,

Their lips form it all, and I remember watching Albus tilt his head, pale skin against pale skin, as the fireworks lit up their darkness, the way they leaned in, three, two, one, and they are kissing, soft at first and then fierce, lips plunging against each other's, tongues battling, hands tugging at hair, suits made of silk whispering as bodies move, the moonlight and the stars their only witness.

They were angels, cheekbones sharp, lips in sink, greedy, desiring more, hands running over skin, eyes closed, crystal clear in the stars shine, I can see the white flash of teeth, the skin on skin, I can remember the way they glued each other in one movement, a fierce secret lost in the maze of oaks and roses, lost in the buzz of illegal alcohol, and the saliva of one and other poison and a drug, one in the same. Passion, love, respect, their hands trace each other, looped around the others neck, and they come up for air, eyes staring into eyes, a trust. Both of their chests rose and fell, the air heavy in their lungs, and a happiness, bright in their eyes. They pause, and words were exchanged, and then they are kissing again, lips parted, tongues caressing, eyelashes smooth on skin, elegant brows drawn.

And I remember my heart breaking, soft, I remember stumbling back, I remember turning and leaving them behind, out of the gardens, hands desperate, I remember trying to find air to breath, oxygen in the world. Their eyes had been gleaming, their teeth clashing, noses pressed against skin, arms beneath cloth, and I remember the cliff. Standing there, looking out at that sea, the abyss.

And the realization. Scorpius will never love me like him. And I remember screaming, at the top of my lungs, I remember collapsing, on my knees, on my arms, and then I forget. The rest of the night is a blur of music, food, smiles, and they come in separately, white and black, opposites but same. And golden eyes are forgotten, and I remember Scorpius walking up to me, grinning, I remember studying his lips, as if trying to read them as if desperately needing them, and I remember him whispering in my ear,

"Happy New Year Rose, what did you wish for?"

And I remember answering, but in the sound and the whirlwind of bodies he does not hear, but I remember, and I will always remember,

 _"I wished to not love you…"_

And Dom's voice brings me out of the pain, lost in my head,

"Where are you at Rose? What day did you go back to, what memory with him and you?"

I look at her, pained, and bite my lip, lowering my head,

"New Years. I went back to New Years,"

She nods, she does not understand what New Year's means, but that doesn't matter, because all she needs to do is hug me, and say it will be okay, and that is exactly what she does, her arms warm, and her words soft,

"Your heart can belong to more than one person Rose, it doesn't have to be just him, forever, you know that right?"

I nod slowly, and close my eyes, leaning into her touch, and she goes on, her voice real,

"You do not need our permission to love someone,"

She pauses, and continues,

"But you also don't need his permission to fall in love with someone else,"

My voice is quiet when I speak,

"I think I am already falling in love with someone else, but I don't want to, because I am afraid he is incapable of love,"

She turns me, hands warm, eyes kind, and whispers like the grass,

"Everyone is capable of love; it's just if they've found the right person to be in love with… Are you the right one Rose?"

I ponder the question. Am I? I could be a forgotten one, I could be dangerous, I don't like his family, I don't like his money, so what do I like? I like his smile, his way of living, every moment, like a disaster, I like his thoughts, his sudden and often forgotten brilliance, his lure of mystery, his tempting desire, his brain, heart, soul, Potter. A name that used to mean power to me, but now it means family, love, care, and I have changed.

And it scares me, I have changed, I am less careful, I am less controlled, and I am freer, because of him, or because of the realisation of a different way of living, a better way of living. Maybe both.

And so the day flies by, classes, time, moments, all of it, some in flashes, and in each class I wonder, why the window bothered me, who I love? If I love two people, or just one? What Professor Trelawney meant?

And eventually the five of us end up in the Gryffindor girls dorm room, which had never been awkward before, but Sheila is now here, and she gives us a long look before finding the door and leaving with her friends, so we have it all to ourselves.

There is something final about this moment, as if there is a warning bell going off in my head, telling me that I need to treasure it, because it may be a last. Lucy suggests dressing up, so suddenly we are lost in Dom's endless closet, and there are clothes thrown everywhere. Jewels, lace, silk, all heavy on our small frames, and we are twirling, lost in the mirror, shoving each other out of the way, homework forgotten.

And we are prancing, strutting, posing, and grinning, our laughter making echoes. And then we are running, as Lucy stumbles after us, blindfolded, and her hands are warm as she tags us, and we fall to floor with laughter, because everything is so, so funny, their smiles are funny, their absurd make up is comical.

And then the pillows are hitting us, and we are yelling, me and V swearing in elvish, and Dom in French, and V and Roxy simply spout random Quidditch terms. And then we are all exhausted on the floor, piling ourselves on top of poor V who started to read a romance novel.

And soon enough we are reading it aloud, the cheesy chapters, swooning over the dramatic figures, laughing at the stereotypical moments, how she trips and he is right there to catch her, and then the book is forgotten, and we are all on the bed, the lights off, murmuring to each other about the moments, about the now, and their words are soft, their touch warm, and the breath of each of us is breathed in by the next, and we are one, all now, all five.

Roxy's voice is like bells, as she bumps my shoulder, laughing as she speaks,

"Rose BlackThorne, you're still alive? Shocker, I haven't seen you in months, and every time I do, it's like James Potter is an accessory, clinging onto you,"

I laugh at her words and roll onto my back, and she tickles my sides, fingers long, and I giggle, pushing her hands away, eyes alight,

"Yes, isn't it, for some reason I don't mind though,"

Dom pokes my cheek, and grins,

"I think someone is in love,"

I roll my eyes and burry my head in the blankets, raising an eyebrow,

"I think someone needs mental help,"

Dom pretends to be hurt and sobs to V, telling like a child, voice musical,

"Rose is being rude; can you beat her up for me V?"

And V simply grumbles, eyes holding a comical grudge,

"I'll beat you all up, my trashy romance novel is brilliantly written, and for judging it you all shall die!"

And with that statement we all start to giggle, and she takes a pillow and tosses it at us, and I duck, letting it hit Roxy, who bumps into Lucy, who promptly falls off of the bed with a loud plunk, and shriek, followed by resounding cursing, and bloody this, bloody that, and not soon after Roxy follows her, tumbling off of the bed, and screaming at Lucy as Lucy screams at her. I watch them argue affectionately, and smile wide, biting my lip and turning to Dom who smiles up at me, and then lets out a breath and rests her head on my shoulder.

And I run a hand over her hair, it is soft, but her skin is surprisingly cold, and it sends a chill down my spine, why it matters, escapes me, why I should care, surpasses me. And her voice is soft when she speaks, and I listen to it, I love the way it hums through me, her words, and they are kind, she is kind to me,

"Rose, there is nothing wrong with loving someone, but don't be a coward, just go up to him, and love him, be proud of it, your love,"

I blink slow, and I want to say I am proud of it, but there is, beneath my skin, a whisper, a whisper of a fear of judgement, being judged as just another one, another one of his girls, the fear of him not saying it back, I fear being rejected, laughed at, so yes, she is right, I should not be a coward, but if I am to say I love him, before that, I must look him in the eye and tell him who I am, truly, all my secrets, all my lies, and beg forgiveness, understanding, because only then will I know if he can except my love, and all of those things, things like the truth and telling it take strength and guts, and I fear having those, more than I fear not.

I turn towards her, and she smiles up at me, eyes sad, and then, there is a single flash, and if I could blink, if I had blinked I wouldn't have seen it, but those beautiful blue eyes, they knew me, and they smiled at me, and then, like lightning, like a flash they were empty, lost, not understanding, resentful, and they did not know me, they did not know anything, and then I do blink, and it is gone, and her eyes are kind, and she is kind, and I must have imagined, for she does know me, I am her friend, I am her sister, she will always know me, and she will always be here, right by my side, to talk about such things, things like love.

And finally, after what feels like ages, but is just minutes I respond,

"I am afraid he will not say it back,"

She nods, eyes sad, and then they smile at me again, and my spirits are lifted,

"Don't be, because how will you know what he will say until he tells you, until you tell him…."

I want to nod, I want to say yes, that it is that easy, but her eyes, and her broken smile tell me that she understands, that she does not need me to pretend that it is easy, because matters of the heart are never easy, never. And with a sudden change in mood, she bumps my shoulder and groans,

Pushing me with her foot, eyes locking with mine,

"I'm hungry, Rose pretty please?"

I roll my eyes at her, and drag myself out of bed, throwing my back pack over my shoulder and turning to leave but I pause, and stare at them, without the four of them where would I be? Would I be here? Or somewhere else? I watch them, Dom, her beautiful blue eyes squinting slightly as she spins around on the bed, I wonder why she squints, but looking past that I can see a happiness glowing in her eyes, glowing in her skin, and she stumbles, falling, but Roxy catches her, and Roxy, beautiful, I have hardly talked to her these weeks, with the whirlwind of life, and the sudden entrance of Potter, and Scorpius slipping, everything changing too fast, and I miss our chats, our arguing, all of it.

Lucy starts to braid Dom's long white hair, making a mess of it, but pretending it looks great, while Dom worries, and threatens, both just pocking fun, and V smiles at them all, and then she looks up, and our gaze meets, and we watch each other, and she understands, how we both worry this won't last, and she smiles, ever so softly, and mouths, lips forming words, that I can barely read, and yet it is like the wind whispers it to me, " _You okay?"_

And I nod, grinning as I duck out of the door, and down the winding stair case, and I pause at the bottom, because there, in the dim lit common room are the boys, Fred is sprawled over James' lap, and they are all strategizing for Quidditch, whispering this and that to each other, and I watch them too. Lysander and Scamander, twins, both darkly handsome, but more lean in stature argue over who should go right or left for the last quarter.

And Fred whacks them over the head with one of the magazines he was reading, giggling at what they are saying. Prewett sits, brows pulled together and eyes crossed as he attempts to make James laugh, but James doesn't laugh, he is talking, or more like lecturing, and stops when Fred notices me and calls my name out,

"Thorne? Still up this late?"

I feel his eyes shift to me, and we watch each other, and his eyes dance like the dying flames in the hearth, and I admire them for a moment, and without turning my head answer Fred's' comment,

"Getting food, I think Dom was gonna murder me if I didn't go, so here I am,"

Fred nods, and I watch James blink, golden eyes fused with dark hues of black and brown, making them dangerously seductive, and I clear my throat, glancing down before looking back up, cheeks warmed,

"I should get going, before she comes raging down the stairs,"

Fred laughs, and tosses one of the magazines at me, and I catch it, badly, and look down at the page he threw at me, and turn my head to the side, just so very slightly, and stare at the page, and written on it, boldly, is an article on a Quidditch player who did self-harm. And I am suddenly torn back in time, to weeks, months ago where he gripped my sleeve, seeing the bruises, soft scrapes, not done by me, but it could be easily perceived as that.

So suddenly I am brave, and I roll up the long sleeves of my pyjamas, and walk towards him, scars gone, skin smooth, everything perfect, no trace, no memory, and hand him the magazine, and his eyes scan my skin, confused, and when he meets my gaze I arch a brow, as if daring him to say a word, and he doesn't, but James does, a muscular arm finding its way around my waist as he leans into me, those dark eyes finding mine,

"Don't worry Rose, if she comes for you, I'll protect you,"

He says it in an exaggerated-cheesy way and I cannot help the soft flush, and grin at him, giggling and pushing his hands off, calling over my shoulder a simple,

 _"Thanks"_

As I walk away, I can feel those eyes, and he wonders, he wonders where they went, and I do too, I wonder what kind of black magic can destroy my life like this, I wonder, because I am good at it.

The kitchen is dark, and I try to make the smallest noises, I am not stealing, I will bake them a new loaf of bread, and a new batch of chocolate chip cookies, and compensate for the hot chocolate with hugs, at some point.

As I go to leave through the portrait, where the luscious pear hangs from the well depicted tree, asking for a tickle, voices stop me, voices I recognise, strong, powerful, voices I have grown used to hearing over the winter break, James' parents, those voices.

Ginny, I can tell from the fiery speech, speaks up first, heels clicking on the ground,

"Harry, James needs to control his temper, displaying that kind of magic in public! I,"

She breaks off and stops walking, and then goes on, voice feeling broken,

"I had no idea he could do spells that advanced, we didn't teach him it, so where did he learn it?"

She sounds different then she was before, she sounds more afraid, as if not prepared for the options, the possibilities. So they didn't know. But Harry's voice breaks into my line of thought, and I lean closer to it, the painting, the canvass is cold beneath my fingertips, but his words are warm,

"I knew he could do something that advanced, I just didn't know he would use it to beat up a fellow student, I, crap, I wish I could get to him, I wish he knew how much we care, Gin-"

I can hear the soft scuffle of fabric and I can imagine them hugging, embracing, holding each other up. And when Ginny speaks, her words surprise me, she is open in the darkness, they both are, and I shouldn't be listening in, and yet here I am, listening. And so she speaks,

"Minerva says he was going to kill him,"

I can hear Harry shake his head, his voice steady,

"No, if James wanted to kill someone they'd be dead already,"

I feel a shiver run down my spine, that is exactly what James had said, and Ginny does not seem surprised by his words, and her voice is worn out when she speaks,

"We did the right thing right? Keeping him behind, in this year, with his friends, when he could be out there, already openly in the Ministry,"

There are sighs, and then Harry responds, and I hear something I shouldn't hear, something that is a secret only three or four people know. And maybe this was the first time, the first time I became a part of the Potters web of lies and power, and maybe this was a first to a lot of things,

And so Harry says,

"Remember when he was twelve we asked him what he wanted to do, if he wanted to join first year, or wait, or not go at all. But he dreamed for Hogwarts and he begged us, begged us Gin, to let him go with Fred, so we did."

A pause, and my heart is pounding, and then he goes on,

"No one needs to know that he isn't their age, it is better this way, because then it looks like he is normal, even though he is not…"

What are they saying? What do they mean not our age, not my age? But James is fourteen, he is in fourth year, with us, being fourteen, being young, being stupid, right? Right? Ginny starts to walk again, and as she leaves, as they leave I catch her last few words, and my heart cannot breath, and my lungs cannot live, and my brain cannot think and so therefore, all body processes are mixed up, as if they are trying to do each other's functions, but failing too,

Her words are sad, as if regret is all she feels, her words, I can hear them, I can feel them,

"Remember the first time he did an unforgivable? It was on a cockroach, that Albus and Lily had been freaking out about, and he did not even hesitate Harry, he simply said it, Avada Kedavra, and the cockroach did not move anymore, and they were too young, James was just ten, just ten Harry….."

And they are gone, and I am falling, slipping down the wall until I hit the floor. Murderer, danger, insane, not human, not right, and yet, why am I scared for him, instead of being scared of him? What is wrong with you Rose? Do you not see the red light? Its telling you to wake up, to realise he is not a good person, but I cannot agree with that statement no matter how hard I try to force myself to. I can only disagree.

I cannot agree because those eyes care about me, and he is not a liar, not once has he lied to me, well, not till now. His age. But it doesn't matter to me, not if he was twelve or ninety, it doesn't matter to me how old he is, it matters to me what the truth is. And he needs to know it, I need to tell him, because if I am choosing to not fear him but respect him, to not run but stay then he and I must come together to be strong in this fight, and every fight after it.

The ground is cold beneath my fingertips, as I lie there on the ground, outside of the kitchen. I cannot seem to hide from the world, and so I am watching it all crash and burn. Not his age. Older. Strangely I am not surprised, he is too smooth, too bloody incredible to be our age, and yet, he is a liar.

Right? Or did he tell me, in his own way? And with that thought I open my back pack and push aside the food, and reach for the worn down diary, with the broken spine, and my fingers slip over it, tracing the golden letters of his initials.

And then I am thrown back in time, as I open the cover, and flip to the first page, the date, his name, the writing was not perfect back then, the spelling off, but it made him human, it makes him human, and so I read,

 _Feb, 16_ _th_ _, 2012_

 _Dear me,_

 _My brain keeps telling me to write my life down, because one day, when I die because of it, I want them to all know, to know everything. I am strong in myself, but weak when we enter that room. I hope you do not forget me, world, because I didn't do all of this to be forgotten. Today was the first time I got to see the D.A. My dad has been promising to show it to me for weeks, the table was very long, and there were lots of powerful people sitting around it, dad said one day I will have my own chair, and sit there with them. I wish I could tell him that I don't want a seat, just to see, just to observe, but I fear disappointing him, I fear he will think he is not good at it, being a dad. I learned how to cast nonverbal spells last week, but I can't seem to master them quite yet. Mum says it is all in the thought, but I am tired of thinking. I can't wait to go to school, I hope they put me in the year with Fred, I don't care if I have to learn everything again, it would be better that way, then I could have friends. I'd love to have friends._

I pause, hands shaking, and turn the page, my heart in my throat, and read the next, my world seems to tremble with each memory he depicts, and his words, though young, have an innocence, a lovely, addicting innocence to them,

 _Feb, 20_ _th_ _, 2012_

 _Dear me,_

 _Sorry I missed a few days, we went on a trip, to Paris, I love Paris, and my dad already lets me have coffee, so I feel very grown up. I am worried that my parents will forget about me now that Lily and Albus are here, and though I know they won't, I wonder, and think back to the years when it was just the three of us, I can hardly remember, but I think it was nice. I've been practicing my spells, and I think I could have a proper duel now. Albus and I got in a big fight, and I used a water hex by accident, so I am writing this all wet. We were fighting over the last croissant, but it felt like the end of the world. It's idiotic I know, but I wish we could fight about little things until we are all old, because then it would be okay, wouldn't it?_

My hands are shaking, and I feel the book slip out of them and onto the floor. Wouldn't it? And I feel like everything is too much, and my head hurts, as if broken into bits, and I cannot breath, I cannot see, I am blinded suddenly, and there is a pull, on my mind, as if someone is entering it, and I can feel the scream torn from my lips as I collapse on the ground, hands gripping onto the wall, fingertips digging into the concrete, and I can feel it, past, a past I have never seen before, not my own, and my hand is on the parchment, on the water droplets from that day, and I am torn back, back and back until I am turning in the air, flying, and I can feel a fear running over me, and I want it to stop, the turning, my hair runs over my skin, my life flashing by,

And suddenly I crash to a halt, knees braced, feet planted, and there he is. He is only five feet tall, or so, and his eyes are wide, his play clothes, colourful, stick to his skin, his cheeks chubby, and his eyes hold a pain that is not alright for someone so young, and in his small hands, clasped between fingertips is a book, and I look down at my own hands, the book he holds is identical to mine, to his.

And he looks up, we stand apart from each other, and looking around I am stunned by the scenery, we are here, in Paris, I can see the small shops, the sunlight, clean cut cobblestones, and he sits on the bottom of a grand staircase lined with pillars, and we watch each other.

His eyes do not yet know me, and though I am not physically hear he looks at me, as if I am.

And he reaches out, palm upturned, eyes confused, as if he wants me to take his hand, and I stare at it, the un-callused hand, unlike the one that holds me now, that held me, so different, but the same, there is no mistake, this is James, the James I know, no, a James I shouldn't know, but do know somehow. But he should be younger, shouldn't he? And I lean closer, my feet make no sound as I move, my breath makes no noise, he should be younger, but he is not. And then I see him, Harry Potter, he walks to the little boy, ruffling his hair, and smiles down at him, and I cannot hear what they say, but the little boy stands, and he drops his outstretched hand before I can take it.

And he disappears, and the world, Paris rips, and I can hear it, like a suction cup, pulling me back to the present, but I don't want to go, and it fades, all of it, as if red and black shades burn it to ash, and I reach for it, for anything, and the blackness consumes.

And I am back on the ground, sweat beading my brow.

And I know, I know many things, but where does begin? I know that James Potter is not fourteen, but sixteen, and ahead of some of the best wizards in magic. And I know this because that spell, throwing me back in time, back in his time, it is not physically possible, there are rules to magic, there are rules that cannot be broken, impossible, you cannot bring back the dead, you cannot fake true love, and lastly, you cannot manipulate time.

But he did. He manipulated my time, and his, to clash together, he created a spell, and I look at that diary, it is not as ordinary as it looks, it holds a power, and that is one spell, page 2, is there a spell he created for each page? Is he brilliant, is it possible? How am I still breathing after getting torn back in time? It defies the laws, it defies reality. He has created something new, and I am terrified, fascinated.

So he is older, he is gifted, and he is in the D.A. Right? His father said he would get a chair one day, so when, when is one day? Has one day come? Has one day passed? Is there a chance he has already voted, a chance that room is owned by him? A chance he already has a job in the ministry, already payed? And why teach their son spells that complicated when he was so young, why?

I stand on shaking legs, and pick up the book, placing it in my bag. Who is he? At first glance he is a flower boy, with a smile, a smirk, and a light for living, a breathless endless thrill of adrenaline, that you seem to drown in, or rise from, or both. But underneath that he is broken, he is scared, scared of simple things like love, and complicated things like dreams. And deeper than that, he is angry, so angry that his bones turn to steal, so mad that he doesn't care if the other person dies, so done with the world we live in, that he is ready to risk it all. And then, there is a heart, blackened by secrets, blackened by life, but still young, and beating with his youth, feed with the words and the stares we give him, he is a legend.

But for the first time I realize he is not a legend because he is Harry Potter's son, he is a legend because he will never be forgotten, and he will make sure of it. And lastly, he is dangerous, because everything is an act, calculated, giving me the diary, it was giving me his trust, it was giving me a warning, if you read, regret, but don't go back, and so we are stuck in this world. He is dangerous because no one knows how powerful he is, because no one knows what he can do, not even me, and, not his family either.

My legs are shaking, and I walk with a halted pace, and where to? The infirmary, the door is heavy on my hands, and I push it open, it creaks as it turns, and groans as it closes. Her office light is off, so Madame Pomphrey is most likely in bed.

And the beds lining the room are all empty, except one, Thomas MacDougal, his jaw is almost back to its original form, and bandages outline most of his body, and I walk to him, his eyes are open. I have never met him before, a pure blood, with old ideas on the world we live in, and I pity him.

He notices me, and his eyes hold a respect, and he bows his head, ever so softly, and I watch him wince from the action. And we are silent for a while, and eventually I speak, voice soft,

"What would you do if I told you couldn't love your family ever again?"

He blinks slow, and tilts his head towards me, eyes confused, and eventually chokes out,

"I don't understand, that would never happen,"

I nod, and scuff my shoes, and without noticing I feel a tear trace its way down my cheek,

"We always think it will never happen, that everything will be okay, but we are fools, and we do stupid things, for justification, for pride, for god knows what…."

He watches me, eyes wide, they are not caring, they are the eyes of a child, a child who has never been taught what is right and what is wrong, a child who is a fool, who is weak, so he requires it, justification, someone to love him completely, and no one ever has. He is a bully, he hurts those who are trying to be strong, and he feels better for it, because then he is the one in control, the one in power, but he is wrong. And someone needs to tell him he is wrong, not beat him, tell him.

I clear my throat, and take a seat on the hospital bed next to him, my voice is soft,

"Are you okay?"

He glares at me, and murmurs,

"What do you care? You stopped him from hitting me because you didn't want James to get in more trouble, not because you care about me, you don't even know me,"

I nod, and smiles softly, and let out a heavy breath, eyes distant,

"Yes. I suppose I did, but I also did not want you to die, because you don't deserve to die, and you know who else doesn't deserve to die?"

He turns away ever so slightly, voice indignant,

"Who?"

I watch the battled and bruised boy before me, and answer softly, so as to not scare him away, so as to keep him calm, not angry, because if they get angry they cannot understand how they were in the wrong, my answer is simple, one word,

"Albus."

He turns to face me, letting out an aching groan, and scrunching his eyes at me, voice slightly enraged,

"You don't understand Albus is an abomination, he is disgusting he-"

He stops as I casually take out my wand and twirl it in my hands, and he bites his cheek, letting out a huff, and so I ask,

"What about him is wrong?"

He gives me a sullen glance, voice angered,

"He likes guys, and he is proud of it, and he hides behind his brother, like a coward,"

I shake my head, the boy before me does not understand, but he will, I will help him understand, because he needs to, because that is what life is about, understanding,

I lean forward slightly, and prop up my head, voice musical as I respond,

"Albus has never once hid, one day he stood up, all on his own and told the entire world exactly what he was, no one asked him to stand up, but many asked him to sit back down, but he did not…"

I pause, and then go on, voice slightly broken as I speak,

"Not all of us are that brave, not all of us would fight for our rights to love whoever the hell we want like he did, he is strong, he deserves to be credited for it,"

The boy before me simply arches a brow, and I scoff, leaning back until I flop onto the bed and I continue, voice tender, and a little sad, because here I am defending the boy who broke a very small part of my heart on New Year's, a part that will heal one day, thankfully, but he deserves to be defended, and so I defend,

"James protects Albus because he does not know better…."

I bite the inside of my cheek, and then go on,

"Have you ever been in love Thomas?"

He glances up at that, eyes shining, and shakes his head, voice icy,

"Can you leave; I'd rather not listen to your crap,"

I shake my head, following his previous movement, and smile wide, lips pressed together, my voice reminds me of a piano piece, of a single string plucked, a note, a pain, and I wonder what I am doing here, but I cannot leave until he understands, because if he does not understand, he will do it again, and I am not sure if I will be there that time to stop James,

And so I speak, the words flowing,

"I think I'm in love. I'm getting all these signs to run, to leave, because I think it would be dangerous, to love him, and I am scared of being proud of it, but Albus is not."

And I bite my lip, and turn my head, my words becoming harsh, like slaps, like punches, and my knuckles ache with each sentence, my veins boil with each letter,

"But you are a coward. What? You think you would affect James, and therefore Albus if you stole his girl? Guess what idgit, he dumped her, he doesn't care about Sheila, he is over her, and yet you were petty, and you grabbed her up, thinking it would make him angry,"

I lean forward, sitting up, biting my lip as I go on,

"You make empty threats that you are going to kill Albus, that you are going to hit Albus, but I saw you, you wimp, I saw the fear in your eyes as James brought his fist up, because you are no match for the Potters, and you are no match for him."

I keep going, destroying, each word pitted with a hatred, with a swirl of emotions,

"You cannot understand love, because no one could ever love you, why? Because you do not know it, that word. You wonder why I am here? I came for a thank you, because I saved your life. And yet you cannot look me in the eyes, a coward that can't even say thanks,"

I am not done, there is too much, and he needs to understand, he needs to , so that James doesn't get in trouble, so that Albus can be strong, so that everything can be okay, so that Scorpius doesn't need to worry, so Scorpius doesn't think that coming out will end up this bad. Because.

And so the anger of the day is in my words, and I do not need fists, or hexes, or spells, because I have my mind, my brain, and it is beating with a pulse, it is beating with an endless roar,

"I asked if you loved your family, because I wondered what you would do if society told you that you cannot love them, because it is not right. But let me ask you this, can you control your heart? Can you? You fool, no, you cannot,"

He slowly turns in the bed and stares at me, eyes wide, and I can see a fear, and I wonder if I am yelling, if I am screaming but I cannot tell, so I keep going, my voice is high, my lungs ache, it all hurts, and so he must listen, he must learn,

"In magic what is one thing you cannot change, other than death, and time?"

I watch him try to swallow, and when he does speak, his voice wavers,

 _"Love."'_

I nod, and stand, stretching like a cat, fixing my crumpled pyjamas, and I go to walk out of the room, but stop and turn back, my voice holds a malice, a warning, and also a caring undertone, so as to not scare him too much, and my words shock me, but shock him more,

"I will not always be there to stop James from doing the last blow, and though you do not deserve to be killed, I suggest you learn to shut up, if those are your views, then keep them to yourself, and if you cannot realise the error of your ways, you should look at yourself, first, and find those flaws, before you go to others braver and stronger than you, and try to fix them."

My hand is on the door knob, and I pause, and without looking back, I have the last say, my voice haunting,

"If you are proud of hurting others than you lack both empathy and humanity, and one day, someone who is a bigger coward than you will say mean things to you, and reverse it, and you will be the one on the floor begging for someone to stand up for you, and when that day comes, remember me, and I will come, and I will stand for you,"

I pause and glance back, lashes long, and my shadow looming in the distant moonlight,

"Not because I care about you, but because no one deserves to be beaten for their beliefs, no matter how twisted. That is why I saved you today, and that is also why I will never save you again. Sleep well,"

And with that the door slams shut behind me. Leaving a little boy trembling, and a girl, powerful through just words, striding up the stairs.


	21. Till Death do us Apart

Chapter 21: Till death do us apart

~JAMES POV~

The test paper is white, the writing black. I wish it had grey; I hate perfection, perfection that isn't my doing. I am perfect, in every aspect of the public eye, and yes, there are slip ups, like Thomas, who is still in the hospital bed, weeks later. Refusing to work, like a child. But generally, overall, I am perfect. The dictionary says perfection is something unflawed. But I disagree, perfection is an image. And those who are truly perfect are able to keep that image in place.

Divination. A wash up subject, but the girl beside me is not washed up, she pays attention to each detail, writing and scribbling answer after answer onto sheets of thin paper, pen squeaking, quill shaking, the ink puddling in pools on the table as she dashes towards the finish line. The perfection. That 100.

I look back down at the question.

Number 54) Define Beauty and how it affects our readings and assumptions.

I let out a breath, and run a hand through my hair. It is soft, I have always loved my hair, I pride myself in the way it falls onto my skin, stark against, a contrast from whites to blacks. For like that page my hair and skin are perfect. I am perfect. I like being perfect, it leaves no room for improvement, and therefore no stress to improve. It is a ceiling, perfection.

Again, my golden eyes find the girl beside me, her elbow brushes against my arm, the contact brief, but I am lost, in it, the soft touch, and bite my cheek, making my eyes dark and brooding, waiting as if desperate for attention, for a glance up. For sea to meet gold. But she is focused, she will break through the ceiling of perfection, in every aspect, for her perfection has no roof.

And so I write. Cursive letters looping, ink flowing like blood, dark, sickening. An answer, _wrong_. But I don't give a damn. Let her win this one James, let her get her perfect score, let her look at you with that triumph, let her win, for victory is all she wants. Give her what she wants. Become humbled by your fake mistakes.

The writing is a work of art, I almost feel like I should get extra credit for my cursive, but I cannot, because then she wouldn't win.

And so I murmur my writing to myself, words like fire, kindling the future, the blood. All of it.

" _The definition of beauty is Rose BlackThorne. And she, this young girl, no lady, is affecting everything, she makes my heart thud, she makes my pulse skip, she makes my lips part. She is the only thing I have ever seen that is beautiful. She makes me biased, ignorant, wrong. And maybe she makes me better…"_

I rest the quill down, boom. And I stand, leaving the stuffy room, and I stop at the door, and I look back. Everyone is asking everyone about the words, the questions, the stars, what was what. _Fools_. And my eyes find them. Rose is spinning round and round with Dom in her arms, white and golden hair mixing to create, again that word, beauty.

V is holding onto Roxy's hand and dragging her towards a chair, to fake interrogate her, and find out if she is okay, since she has been getting stressed, and Roxy is laughing, eyes wide, windblown, teeth shining, and Lucy is there, arms locked around them, and they all hug. It is the first midterm of the new year, and we have all been worried, well exempting me, all of them have been stressed, hair between knotted fingers, lips bitten till cut, fingernail marks on clear skin. Stress can drive you to madness. No one gets it, what it is like watching the people you care about go mad. But what can I do? If I admit to myself that I cannot help them, then I am no longer perfect. And if I am not perfect than what am I?

Dom smiles, I haven't seen her smile in weeks, I haven't seen her smile in so long that it hurts, physically, and Rose watches that smile too, and I see her let out a breathe she has been holding, let out a worry she has been plaguing, and her eyes find mine. And we watch. Each other. And she gives me a nod, soft, small, an acknowledgment, and I duck my head, leaving the scene behind.

Nothing is perfect. It was this day that I saw perfection. And it was Valentine's Day that I found out that nothing lasts forever. That perfect, and beauty, are just words stupid humans created to feel better about themselves, when in fact, nothing can and ever will be perfect again.

Hogwarts is not my home, the walls are comforting only because of the friends behind them, and even then, they are not worth saving, not worth risking. Weeks have passed since the train ride home and a month about since New Year's. It's February, and the signs of spring are on their way, but I have never cared for spring, or what it could bring.

Daffodils, and the snow caps, beginning to melt, our breath doesn't form clouds of steam anymore, and the sun shines for longer times, rising before I wake, and going down before I sleep. Each day has a new rhythm. I wake up, and I go downstairs, and then it gets exciting, cause she's there. It's never been exciting before.

It's been different since we got back, Rose; she's been different since we got back. Her eyes no longer follow the blonde, blue eyed, Slytherin demon, but follow me, my every movement, and now, more than ever, I feel a pressure to not let her down as she goes forward with bravery, forward to me.

No, we have not sat down and talked about it all, our relationship, I think at the moment, it is open, and she fears being responsible, and maybe, as she reads the diary I wrote when I was so young, she will learn to fear me.

I am in the heavens. Well, not literary. The broom is hard beneath me, the wood is warmed by body heat, and I practice tricks, that when the time comes, will look effortless, like I was born to flip off the broom and catch it with one hand. But it isn't as easy as it looks.

I like the sky. There is a freedom, and no bloody idiot can come and take you down, I like that freedom, I want to own it, I want to keep it and let it be mine forever. When I was younger, I remember learning how to fly; no one ever stood up and taught me, they didn't need to, because I could. And I did.

I got up, off of my knees, and onto my feet, and I kicked the disgusting rock beneath us, this earth we cannot live without, and I shot up, and I screamed the whole way, but once I was up there, I would not come down, it was like I had sprouted wings, I had sprouted dreams, and endless possibility of it, and I hate chance, I hate liars, and I hate those who try to bring me down from this sky, _my sky._

The stars have an empty look tonight, it is as if they are mourning us, us humans trapped in our own beautiful grave yard, far beneath, captured and chained to the oxygen this planet gives. One day, I promise, I will find a way to create oxygen out of a wand, out of a breath, to create water out of dust, and fire out of rain, one day I will do it all. I often wonder if that day has come, and passed, and have I done it all?

The wind is soft in my hair, and I let go of the broom, hands scraping my heavens, and I gaze at the stars, and I shout, loud, yelling at them,

"Cheer the bloody up!"

And let out a sigh, lips pushed together, and I let my eyes drowsily close, I am tired. Not tired because life exists, just tired because the stars are not mine tonight, I cannot understand them tonight, tonight they are warning me. But I am blind.

My feet hit the ground, the mud splatters, I watch the tiny drops fall towards my clothing, I watch each particle slip through the air, and I wish I could stop them, I wish I was able to stop whatever I wanted to stop, just by looking, so maybe I will find a way to do that, _too._

I see her shadow first. Long, almost worn out, I then see her hair, blonde, like liquid silver, shined by the moonlight of the crescent, slim in the darkness. Dominique Weasley. She has not been okay. I am not a fool, I am observant, and she is on the list of the people I observe. Because I care about her. She is my cousin after all.

She is off, something about her is off, she does not smile when she laughs, her eyes do not glow when she eats, she stares, and she whispers, her voice always so very quiet. We are worried. But this has happened before, when she was very young, she came to me, asking for a promise, for me to always be there, but to live for her, if she is not there. That was when she got her heart broken by Andrew Mason. I hate Andrew Mason.

Her voice is soft, her voice is never soft, but tonight, with the stars that shine dull, and the world cold from the bitter winds, and endless hail, she is soft, timid, and her eyes glow in the darkness, and I do not fear it, for I have seen monsters far worse.

Dom. She looks like an angel, hair stark against the inky black, blue eyes light like ice, and her breath makes no mark in the cold air, her skin is not rosy red, but a pale, sickening yellow and I wonder, for a moment, if she is okay, better than okay. If any of us are, when it has not even begun, chaos, the war, the forgotten.

Her voice, it is an angels but yet as well it is tired, so very exhausted, it is as if it lacks the will to live, choked on a happiness her words do not admit,

"Is that you? Frank?"

I shake my head, eyes wary, she is not herself, and with the sudden wrong identification I look closer, at her worn hands, her nails are often perfect, but I can see small scratch marks on the soft opaque nail polish, her hair never has a knot, but now, tossed in the wind it looks like white hot flames, tangled, but her skin, her skin is what causes a chill of the reckoning to settle on me, in my bones, it is worn down, almost see through, almost like glass.

She sighs, and abruptly sits down, on the wet, muddy ground, robes getting soaked in an instant, but I don't stop her, I observe, and her voice is lost as she speaks,

"I have never told you how much I like you Frank…."

I don't say a word. Frank? Does she mean Frank Longbottom, the chaser on my team? My friend, he is older than her, only by a year, in fifth, but she can't like Frank, because she's Dom, she doesn't like anyone… But that thought stops me, who are you to talk James, you never liked anybody either, and now, here you are, daydreaming, constantly about those stunning eyes, the soft curve, the rosy cheeks.

I swallow and crouch next to her, softly placing a hand on her brow, she is not hot, no, she has no fever, but her skin is like ice, like that of one without life, and she goes on, voice lacking, lacking so much,

"I am scared Frank, I cannot see, not clearly, it is like my mind does not want me to see, but I want to see, I long to see so much, there is so much I have not seen…."

I cannot move, the darkness feels very vast, and my pulse is too slow, my mind too slow, I can only hear her words, not process, not do anything, but I want to, you have to James, before it is too late, you know you have to, god damn it James, move, but I cannot.

Her voice is small, her breath hard,

"I have a dream Frank, its brilliant,"

And I want to speak, I want to say something, anything, maybe that I have a dream too, that our dreams will only ever be that, just that. To not lose hope, but I feel as if I am a hypocrite, a liar, a bastard,

I find my voice, not through myself, but someone else, it is as if she appears, and her hands are warm, Rose. And she whispers, her voice like a lullaby,

" _Nothing is the end of the world. It is just the beginning of a new one,"_

She is right. Let us dream. Let Dom dream. We can create a beginning, this is not the end, and we are stronger than that. Than then end. And so I speak,

"What do you dream of?"

I wait for her to smile and call my name, realizing I am not Frank, but James, her James, who has teased her for years, ever since we were little, but she does not, she does not call my name, she does not acknowledge me, instead her eyes stay forward, and when she speaks, it is broken,

"I dream that one day we will all grow old, and meet up every year for summer at a beach house, all of us, and we will have children, and we will tell them of the beautiful lives we lived, of how we saved the world, how we saved them…."

She turns to me, tears in her eyes, and sobs, though it makes no noise. And her eyes look out, past me, at the stars that do not shine, and it is as if she does not see me, as if she cannot see me. Her voice sounds so devastated, and the tears shine in the moonlight,

"We must live beautiful lives, mustn't we? We must make them memorable, so no one can ever say we didn't do our part…"

I blink slow. Her cold skin. Her lack of eyesight, I know it, there is a warning in my blood. When Mundungus died, the whole party before, the whole day before he couldn't hear, and he was cold too. And he died. I swallow. Hands whirling, and I grab onto her pulling her up, and pulling her to face me,

"Dom, it's me, James, listen how do you feel, can you remember me, huh Dom?"

She stares past me, at the stars and smiles,

"You're my cousin. You're James. You're Roses' James."

I stare at her, heart pounding, my voice shaking,

"Whose?"

She smiles, but her eyes hold tears, and one single one traces her cheek, broken. Why does this feel like goodbye?

"Rose loves you; she is just too scared to tell you James. I wish Frank loved me. I wish you would let him love me… He's a good guy James, good enough for me,"

She turns to leave, but I grab onto her arm. And I pull her closer, my arms wrapping around her petite form, my voice thick,

"Oh Dom, love whoever the hell you want, for me, please,"

And then she looks at me. Actually at me. Not the stars, not her hands, me. And I see it, a street, there is blood, I am murmuring something. There is a corpse. Her hands are limp. My wand is in my hand. Rose is there. We are all there. And then I blink and the image is gone. But not the thought.

I fear death. I cannot stop it from happening. I cannot.

I take her hands in mine, and I lead her up to the castle, my steps fast, and I burst into the infirmary, Madame Pomphrey glancing up.

"Madame, she isn't doing well, I think she is cursed, or ill, I, she never gets like this, never,"

She steps forward, taking Dom from me, eyes concerned,

"What Mr. Potter?"

I swallow; there is something about tomorrow, Dom needs to last past tomorrow, past the day after. There is something about those two days, the two days coming that is ominous. Bad.

"You need to keep her here until tomorrow, and the day after, is done, please,"

She nods, and then shakes her head, letting out a soft laugh,

"I can't, James the day after tomorrow is Valentine's Day, I can't keep her in captivity on Valentine's Day,"

I shake my head, eyes warry,

"You have to. For me… And not captivity, just to make her better, you have to make her better,"

Madame Pomphrey gives me a long look. And her voice shakes slightly,

"You're really worried, James, should I contact Fleur and Bill?"

I swallow, and glance at my hands,

"I... No, not until you know what's wrong with her, you have to…"

She goes to speak but Dom grabs onto my hand, and she laughs, high pitched, hysterics,

"Don't leave me here James, you are better than this, don't do it, it can't change it,"

I stare at her, and laugh, a hand running through my hair, eyes wild, breath short,

"Stop talking in metaphors, for god sake, change what? Huh?"

She smiles, wide, and suddenly her hand is in mine. And it is warm. It is very warm. She is alive. Stop freaking out James. And she gives me a long look,

"Fine, if me being here keeps you from pulling your gorgeous hair out of your scalp, I will, but calm down James, where do you think I'm gonna go? I don't plan to go anywhere,"

I bite my tongue and nod. Out the door. Up the stairs. And I burst in. Loud. I hear soft breathing and give the Professor a tap on the shoulder. A squawk and a fluent string of insults, a wand clutched in old hands, skin like parchment paper. Professor McGonagall lets out a very pissed off sigh, and tilts her head, eyes narrowed.

"Mr. Potter, I believe its past your bed time, and that you have been illegally on the Quidditch field after hours,"

I nod, hands formed in tight fists,

"Yes I do believe I have been, but I need to talk."

She lets out a sigh and peers at me, looking closer, at the bags, the shake of my hands, the trembling fear batting like flames in my eyes. She swallows, and gestures for me to enter her study, voice haughty,

"Well you better come in James…"

I can't take a seat, and pace, back and forth, and so on, walking the length of the room… She watches me go back and forth, and then back and then forth, steps long, hands lost in my hair, brow furrowed. Eventually, as her patience expires she slams her hand down, hitting the mahogany table with a loud crack. And I stop walking. Turning to face her.

She gives me a long, searching look, and gestures for me to sit. And I do. Reluctantly, I might add. We watch each other. Neither person going to speak. And, after a time, the words start coming, and matching the trembling of my hands, matching the quickened heart beat I speak, voice shaking,

"I remember when I first killed someone. I remember after, how I went to the funeral, in disguise, and I watched his family, they weren't good people, but they cried for him. I remember how I cried for him too…."

She rests her hands on her lap, folded. And says nothing, waiting for me to go on. And I do, as time passes,

"I've never prayed for anything, but I prayed that day, that I could not have this life. This brain. I prayed that I wouldn't be this incredible. As self-centred as that sounds…"

I let out a breath, and lean back, hair tangled. My voice is monotone, no emotion,

"I didn't mean to kill him, I was just so bloody angry, how dare he, I always wondered if I saw him, now, like I saw him that day, if I would have done the same. I can't decide. He killed my friends Parents, John Prewetts parents, so he deserves to die, Antonin Dolohov. He deserves to die. So he did."

She swallows, and lets out a breath of her own, and watches me carefully, her gaze sharp, even after all of these aging years. And all of these battles. And my voice shakes with rage as I go on,

"And I hate it; they are still cleaning up my mess. _My mess_. The newspapers still printing nonsense that he went on trial, that he escaped Azkaban, when I killed him. It's funny, my friends, they think he is alive, they believe that crap my dad puts in the news…."

I slam my fist into the table, and stand, turning away, letting out a breath, cheeks puffed out. And my voice is ragged when I speak,

"I fear death… I wish I could be unafraid, and not a coward. Look at me, my hands are shaking Minerva…"

I let out a laugh, it is choked, it is broken. And slowly the old woman stands, as nobly as she can in her dressing gown. And walks to me, and takes my hands in hers, the wrinkled flesh is old, she will not last too much longer, and I regret waking her, I regret yelling, I regret coming. She whispers, voice tired, so very exhausted.

"Oh James, no one deserves to die… No matter what they have done… Not even Tom deserved death, and yet, Harry killed him. You are not the only one and you have done no wrong James."

I go to walk away, my face contorted, teeth grazing flesh, but she takes my other hand, and stops me,

"It is not your fault you are like this, you cannot control it, you were born like this, special. You are special James."

I rip my hands out of her grip, and shake my head, my voice broken, angered, mad, I am madness, as well as perfection.

"NO, no don't do that, stop trying to make it sound okay, it is not okay, god damn it, I AM NOT OKAY."

She goes to reach for me again, eyes trying hard to understand, and I am trembling, my whole body. I am exhausted of it. I want to be me. Why is it so hard to be yourself? How can Albus and Rose be themselves so easily? I want to be free. Why am I not free?

Her voice is broken when she speaks, so very sad,

"You remind me of him James, so very much,"

I stare at her, eyes harsh,

"Who? Huh?"

She smiles softly, and murmurs,

"Two people, no, maybe three, three people…."

I step closer, my eyes bloodshot, the world is too heavy on my shoulders, and I cannot withstand the pressure,

"Who?"

She goes slowly and sits, eyes startlingly green,

"You remind me of Harry Potter, a great man, Tom Riddle, a horrible man, and Albus Dumbeldore, a complicated man…"

I feel my fingernails inch into my skin, breaking it, and the blood is warm, and it sickens me. And my voice is shaking, and I can feel it, everything, I hate feelings.

"My father is a ruined man; he is so very good of a man, that he tries so hard, I cannot try that hard, I will not let it ruin me. And Tom? _Voldemort?"_

I let out an insane laugh; it fills the room, dark, like crimson,

"He is a monster. What are you implying Professor?"

She ignores both of my statements and goes on, voice even,

"Albus Dumbeldore, when he was young he could do things, things that defy reality, but he hated it, so that magic, that brilliance, he ignored it, and with time, it died, or perhaps it never existed…. He was incredible… Albus…"

I look down at the tremble of my fingers, red with my blood. I hate the sight of blood. It reminds me of a past I pretend doesn't exist. Because I am perfect. And the blood pisses me off.

She continues, soft,

"He could not control his temper, so he learned ways, ways to calm down, to breathe, he was not like you, he did not live for the adrenaline rush, and he hated it, so often he would grow close to death, for he lacked the want for life, if life involved magic. But he realised, very quickly that life is a gift, James, you have already realised this, already know this…"

I collapse against the wall, my back hitting the stone, and my head lolls back, lips red, everything is so red. She looks distant, it all does, and she smiles so very sadly, she looks a hundred years older, a million years aged,

"He became someone everyone loved, a good, good man James… But that doesn't mean he was always a good man. That doesn't mean he didn't make mistakes. He made big ones. He found Tom, he didn't monitor him, ignoring signs, he dragged Harry into hell, he ruined Severus' life, mine, too…"

She gives me a long, searching look, walking over to me, her hand resting on the top of my head, like a mother, like a friend. I have known this incredible woman my entire life. And her eyes are kind,

"You are just a child James, let go for a while, take a breath, fall in love, learn to depend on people, not yourself. You are stronger than anyone thinks you are. You just have to show them. Huh? Show them you are the strongest of them all, and that you will be okay, that you can make everything okay, right?"

I feel my head hit the cold brick wall, and let out a deep sadness. My voice breaking,

"I think Dom is going to die on Valentine's Day… I think she is going to die the day after tomorrow… She is acting weird, like Mundungus, and I can't lose her, but I can't prevent death, I can't… I need you to help me, I can't live without her, without any of them, they are my family, they are untouchable..."

She lets out a sigh, and makes me stand from my sulking, broken position, and gives me a stern look,

"No one is going to die James, listen to me, its Valentine's day soon, find a nice, honest girl and take her on a date, and blow her mind away, and smile a little, okay?"

I shake my head, grabbing onto her arms, my breath raged, my voice angered,

"No, you listen to me, Dom never acts weird, unless she is broken hearted, or angry, and she is not, she isn't, she is cursed, the forgotten have a way of warning us that death is coming, I cannot prevent it, fate, so I am begging you, do you hear me? Begging you to help her, to help me, please?"

She shakes her head, eyes kind and I fall to my knees, hands buried in her dressing gown, eyes wide, and I let out a sob, or a scream, I can't tell, and she takes my hands in hers, and gives me a long soft look,

"Don't beg James. It is not like you, to beg… It is not like you…"

I burry my face in my hands, teeth grinding,

"I am asking for your help, and you refuse? I thought, I thought you, of all people, would believe me, would know I am never wrong, _I am never wrong!"_

She gives me a stern look, as if I am a child. But I am no child.

"James, it makes no sense, Dom has been in Hogwarts, safe, and before that, with your family _safe_ , when would they have had the opportunity to curse, to possess, do whatever ritual they do? The answer is they wouldn't. You need sleep, rest, a couple deep breaths, friends, James, listen, _for me?"_

I sit down at the desk, in her chair, and close my eyes, no tears falling, for I never cry. And eventually, after quite a long time I stand and go to her. She watches me, eyes reassuring, and my voice is not my own, it is softer, afraid, I am never afraid,

"Promise me she will be okay? Please? Promise me that Dom is just depressed, just going through heart ache, please? Because, I am scared, I think, I think this feeling, is being scared…."

She takes my face in her hands; her skin is wrinkled and soft. And my heart thuds. I hate fear. It climbs at you. James is strong, James is perfect. James is Gryffindors hero, so he has no fear. He is not human. He is better.

And her eyes tell me she is honest. That Dom will be okay, and her voice calms the thudding of my heart, and the disgusting fear that entwines around my heart strings. Her voice is magic, it is all I need, reassurance. And that is what she gives me,

"Dom will be fine James, I promise, Dom will always be fine…"

The promise is made. And somewhere fate laughs, head thrown back, finding our human acts amusing as we are blind from the road and the destination chaos will bring us to.

The morning, the sun is darkened by huge grey clouds. Ominous. It is the day before Valentine's Day, February 13th. One more day before the end.

The breakfast table is quiet, Dom is absent, still in the infirmary, and last night seems far away. Everything does. And then she sits down next to me. Her eyes are redder than mine. She is shaking slightly. And I can see bags under her eyes, and I take out my wand and murmur a spell in my mind, and I watch the skin become clear, and her eyes normal. She watches me from beneath long lashes.

And then the golden haired beauty speaks,

"James, I am scared that Dom isn't okay… She isn't herself, she doesn't."

She lowers her eyes and laughs, her voice choked, and murmurs,

"Never mind, I sound crazy…"

I place a long finger beneath her chin and make her look at me, and I shake my head, my voice a whisper of air,

"Dom is safe, she promised that she would stay in the infirmary for a little while, and see what's wrong, she'll be okay there…"

She doesn't look so sure. And I waver for a second. But the promise of last night rings in my ears, Minerva is no fool, she is smart, she would know if something was wrong…

And instead of going on I take Rose into my arms, I start with her hands, her fingers, I glide mine over hers, over the knuckles, over her wrist, curving around each arch, up her arm, over delicate warm skin, and she watches me, with a slight smile, and slowly the crease in her brow leaves, with the red eyes, and the bags. And eventually, my fingertips, warmed by her flesh, curve around her neck, and into her luscious hair, and she full on grins, white teeth flashing like a dream, and I watch her smile and I feel my lips tip upwards.

She pulls away from the soft caressing and gets a glass of orange juice, and gives me a long look. And slowly that smile slips. And her sadness comes back like a disease,

"James, I've been having nightmares,"

I glance up from my plate and return her long look, my voice even,

"About what?"

She swallows, lips taught,

"Choices, and death, and how they are all so related…"

She places down the orange juice. Hand trembling. And tilts her head back, looking at the clouded sky reflected in the ceiling by enchantment. And she lets out a smile. Priceless, but I can see tears, swimming in those green eyes.

"James, I think I chose wrong, I think I shouldn't have chosen anything; I don't think it's fair that we have to choose in life, between death or life, you know?"

She turns and faces me, her smile is sad, it makes me sad. My emotions seem to follow hers, Rose's. And her voice is choked,

"I have always cared about the wrong things... About grades rather than health, books rather than friends, success rather than achievement…"

I shake my head and take her hand. It is so small in mine, and she watches the movement. Eyes shining. And my voice is real; it is my turn to reassure. And I can. I can do anything for her.

"No, you are wrong, you do care about friends, you always have, you care so much, about everything, you are good like that, hear me?"

She lets out a soft laugh, and bumps her shoulder into mine, eyes glowing,

"Yes James, I'm listening to your rubbish pep talk,"

I bump her shoulder back and she falls onto the bench with a shriek and a breathy laugh. And I lean down, over her, my hand propping myself up by her head, fingers splayed, the other grasping the table, and I tilt my head, and grin, arching a brow,

"You have no filter Rose BlackThorne,"

She laughs and rolls her eyes, eyebrows raised,

"And what are you going to do about it Potter?"

I lean down, closer, and closer, till space is something we have never heard of. And my voice is soft, tender, luring her in. But she does not need luring, because she sees right through it, all of it. And gives me a stern look, and then I whisper,

"Be my Valentine…"

She blushes crimson and pushes me off of her, sitting up and staring at me, hand covering her mouth. And then she clears her throat. And giggles, hands covering her face, peaking at me from between long fingers, eyes alive with flames, her words hushed,

"Are you serious?"

I give her a stern expression,

"What kind of question is that?"

She takes both of my hands in hers, and leans forward, giving me a soft kiss on my cheek. Her lips are warm, soft, I can feel her pulse through them .Skin on skin, desire is fuelled through veins like a wildfire, and I lean into it, watching her eyes flutter close. And when they open, they are only looking at me. And she whispers, like the wind, the rustle of grass,

"Yes, James Sirius Potter, yes."

I laugh, and give her a soft shove, and she raises her fist, arching her brow, while laughing, and I put my hands up in defence, reaching for the potatoes. And softly, she asks, her voice soft, a little sceptical,

"Does that mean that you asked me on a date?"

I nod, giving her a heavy gaze, and she swallows, and glances down at her hands, voice innocent,

"I've never been on one of those before…"

I lean closer, and give her a long, searching gaze,

"Then let me volunteer to be your first love,"

I hear someone clear their throat and I pull away from Rose, and back to my food. Listening to the annoying person who interrupted the moment speak,

"Hi, I'm Lola,"

I glance up from Rose, and there she is. She looks normal, another girl in the crowd, she is pretty, but not outstanding, she is a good height, but I prefer shorter, she is smiling, not just in her lips, but also her blue eyes. Her hand is extended, requiring me to shake it, so I do.

Her skin is warm, her fingers long, and her wrist slender, her nails are painted a deep crimson, it reminds me of blood, and I am slightly repulsed. Her fingers slip over mine, the touch is soft, but it is meant to make me want her, unfortunately I have never felt more empty.

She licks her lips, silent for a moment, and then she turns to Rose, eyes alive, grinning,

"I take it that you forgot to mention little old me?"

My eyes follow hers to Rose. Rose, she is stunning, the sunlight from the grand windows makes her skin rosy, her hair gleam, her teeth sparkle. And her eyes, they hold every emotion, like a book only I can read, only mine.

She smiles, guilty, and her eyes, oh those eyes, meet mine, and she nudges me with her hand on my knee, touch soft, dangerous, eyes blinking, and eyelashes scraping delicate skin. I am lost in her touch; I am lost in just the simple brush of fingers on skin, the simple smile. I am infatuated.

And then she opens her mouth, and she is brave,

"This is Lola, James"

I blink. And give Rose a long pissed off look, but her eyes hold still that deep sadness, that fear. And I wonder what nightmares those, were, what nightmares could possibly be coming at us.

I blink, again, I am not speechless, just lost, I have never felt this in love, this lost, this totally and completely lost. I swallow, down whatever emotions are rising that I don't understand or want to understand. And I turn to her, to this new, unimportant girl, and smile,

"Nice to meet you, Lola,"

I can see Rose lower her eyes, her gaze, I can see her hand form a fist, but her smile does not waver, it simply leaves her eyes, her eyes are empty. And she is not afraid of being left behind, she is used to it. I want to yell, to tell her I will never leave her behind, but I am tough, I am strong, I am James bloody Potter.

Lola is blind to it all. I analyse her, as if looking at something dirty, she does not deserve to be judged, but judging is fun, I enjoy the way they squirm, the way they can't handle it, any of it.

She is flirting, blatant, her fingers slipping through her hair, eyelashes heavily blinking, but she has a brain, she must, right? She tilts her head, voice like sick honey,

"Can I sit?"

I tilt my head back, arching a brow,

"Something tells me you're not an independent woman, I like woman who just sit, they don't need someone's permission, after all, it's a free country, isn't it?"

I can hear Rose sigh, air slipping between those irresistible lips, it seems around Rose I need to prove myself, to prove to her I am strong, but it is strange, I am starting to think that she prefers me weak, like when I was on the floor after the fight, destroyed by myself.

Lola sits. Her bag hits the floor, I can hear perfume bottles bump the ground, the clank of make-up products, and again I can feel a growing disgust. She grabs some food, and starts eating, her voice is high pitched, a soprano, but unlike Roses' it sounds like the squeaking of tires, Rose's voice sounds like a birds.

And so the tires squeal,

"Rose is Dom okay? We haven't talked in days, it's like she's avoiding me,"

I glance at Rose, she blinks slow, and glances down at her hands, pulling on a see through smile, and in her eyes I see a torture, I can almost see a hillside, and there is blood, and V is there, and Rose is too, Rose is crawling, clawing towards a corpse. The corpse has white hair. Her voice trembling ever so slightly she speaks,

"No, she's just a little tired, nothing to worry about…."

She blinks again, hard, and Lola goes on, and my ears are starting to hurt,

"Rose I had some problems with the astronomy homework, I feel like such an idiot,"

Rose laughs, and reaches into her back pack, without a pause, pulling her own completed diagrams out and going to hand them to the waiting girl, and again, disgust, and my hand slips over Roses', her skin is like fire, and I run my thumb finger over her knuckles in a swift motion, shaking my head back and forth, gaze dark as I speak to Lola,

"Then maybe you should pay attention in class, or ask for extra help."

Rose scoffs, and sends me a quick glare, standing slightly and dropping the work into Lola's awaiting hands, tossing her a soft smile,

"Ignore him, he's just stressed, and a teenage boy, they all act this way, bloody superior,"

Lola laughs softly, and hands back the work, shaking her head, gaze steady,

"No, he's right, I shouldn't take your homework, maybe after lunch today we could meet up and you could help me,"

I glance at Rose, she laughs softly and nods, eyes kind, but I can see behind the kindness, a disgruntled disappointment, and I continue, my voice harsh,

"There are teachers for a reason darling,"

Lola pauses awkwardly and blinks and then laughs. And her voice is amused when she speaks again; her words making my heart skip a beat,

"It's funny you say that, Rose told me to be careful, because it's impossible to not fall in love with you, but I disagree,"

I glance at Rose, who rolls her eyes, tongue stuck in her cheek, and arching an eyebrow at me, as if saying 'dare to prove me wrong idiot', and I give Lola a long look, my voice thick,

"Care to elaborate?"

She nods, voice steady,

"I think you are rude, and harsh, but I think underneath that you are a nerd, and afraid of fame, I think you should be interviewed by me,"

I grind my teeth together, and laugh loud, causing everyone in the hall to look up, and I stand, eyes angered and pick up her plate of food, and drop it, it shatters as it hits the ground with a boom, as soon as I do the action I regret. Because I see Rose's eyes, and they are not proud of me, they are disappointed. As if I have let her down. But how? How? I grab Rose and I's bags, and wave good bye, eyes rolling as I stride out of the great hall, and behind me, I watch out of the corner of my eye Rose stand hastily and take out her wand, fixing the plate with a quick flick, and apologizing by the tenfold, as she runs after me, feet hitting the ground with a rhythmed pattern, her steps short, simply because of her small stature.

As soon as we are out of the great hall she grabs onto my hand. And my breath is taken away. It was only months ago that she refused any touch, any brush of skin and skin, any thought of flesh on flesh. She feared it, contact, the responsibility and emotions that came with it, but now, she grabs onto me, without a second glance, a thought, anything.

She has changed, for me, possibly because of me, and her fingers are soft, her skin delicate, but her veins, her blood it is bold, it is fire, it is fighting for me and against me, her wit challenging me at every chance, at every opportunity.

And I follow her, how can I not? She is incredible. I wonder what about her is so bloody strange, maybe it is the way she has a maturity, a deep understanding of pain, maybe the way she sees good in those that are vial, maybe the way she lets Sheila hit her, because she has empathy, stronger than anyone I have ever known. And that is what makes her so beautiful, because she is different, it is refreshing, it is like ice on a summer day, it is what you need, and grow to not be able to live without.

She rounds on me, hair flying, I watch each strand fall in perfect imperfection. And her words are lost to me.

"What?"

Her eyes are rolling, and she is doing that adorable sulking face, where her face slims, and her eyebrows furrow,

"I said that Lola deserves a chance, and my homework and what I do with it, is my decision, not yours Potter,"

I laugh softly and lean against the wall, hand running through my hair, I love the way her eyes follow the movement, as if accidentally, as if she too has this feeling, she must right? It can't just be me, it can't.

Her hands are crossed over her chest, crumpling her uniform,

"I don't intend to be funny you bloody idiot,"

I grin, watching the way she huffs and puffs, as if she wants a response, a fight, and yet she reprimands me for fighting, please, if she could she would use iron fists to beat me to a pulp.

"I can't help it, you're adorable,"

Her teeth sink into her lip, and my eyes attempt not to follow the movement, she steps forward and lets out a sigh, leaning on one of the desks,

"Did you have to break the plate? You know there are people in this world that are starving, and you wasted an entire meal because you are pissed off?"

I stop at her words, and so she continues, voice convincing,

"Listen to me, violence is never the answer; those are your own words James"

I lower my gaze and murmur softly,

"Are we having our first argument Rose?"

She gives me a long disgruntled look. And turns away, her voice harsh, her words real,

"You are no longer a child James, tantrums are for children, you are older-"

She stops at that and winces slightly, glancing down at her hands. And I know. She knows, she must know, that I am older, by a year. Staying back to be with my friends, Fred, John, Lysander, Scamander. Staying for them, so we could learn the empty work together, and create memories, precious things like those. That rarely I have ever known.

My voice is soft when I speak,

"You know don't you?"

She turns her head slightly, and watches me with curious eyes, but does not acknowledge my words. I wonder what I like about her. I suppose her morals. She stands firm in her beliefs; she does not flinch when I yell. When the plate breaks she cleans it up, apologizes, lectures. But I do not mind her words, in all my life no one has ever stood up to me, and told me to stop. It is refreshing; it awakens a hunger for competition, for a rival. For victory. And yet I let her beat me on the Divination test. One victory lost, but she will be pleased, and I will be amused. Not a victory won on merit.

I continue,

"When did you find out?"

She watches me, weary, mulling over sentences in her head, what words would fit the situation, what words would not be rude. What words would be preferred. I wish she would just speak, not think, not consider the possibilities, the probabilities. I wish with me, at least me; she could say what she wants to. With freedom.

I nod, no response. And my voice is soft when I speak,

"I'm sorry I broke the plate, I'm sorry I hit Thomas, I'm sorry I don't like Scorpius, I am sorry that you don't like my personality, I'm sorry that I am a monster, I am sorry that you know that man, me…"

She turns slowly, and her voice is a whisper,

"I am not afraid James…"

I stare at her, and she raises her chin, meeting my gaze, and goes on,

"I will never be afraid of you…"

I bite my cheek, and laugh, eyes dancing,

"I've killed…. I've hit…. I've cursed; I've done bad, bad things Rose…. Things that make me a bad man,"

She nods her head, and slowly, so very slowly she steps forward, and wraps her arms around my neck, I watch her stand on her tippy toes, and she whispers into my ear, her breathe soft,

"I am not afraid of you James, I am afraid that you will not hold me, that you will not accept me, the real me…"

She lets go of me, and we stand, parallel. And she smiles, her lips barely lifting, her voice shaking,

"You are not the only one with secrets James…"

She backs up and goes for the door, but I stop her, my voice calmer now, more light, back to the topic of Lola,

"I… Did you not see how disgusting she was acting?"

She lets out a laugh, broken, but real,

"Yes, she was acting very flirtatious…"

I grind my teeth together and grab her hand, my eyes indignant,

"Rose, I wish you would stand up and tell her to stop, tell her I am yours,"

Her cheeks become rosy, and she looks down, her voice soft,

"James, no one can own a person, people are not objects,"

I sigh, and step closer,

"Fine, I am giving you permission to own me…"

She coughs, spluttering, and lets out a shaky smile, head shaking,

"Everything is moving so fast,"

I lean closer,

"Aren't you interested?"

She gives me a long, idiotic look, and then hits me over the top of the head, whack, and I shriek, grabbing at her, but she runs away giggling, teeth shining with her eyes, and she shakes her head,

"James Sirius Potter, you will be the death of me,"

I nod. And she goes to the door but pauses and looks back,

"James, Lola just wants an interview, and she's close with Dom… Can't you?..."

I shake my head, eyes playing games with her,

"I don't do interviews, in fact I hate them, my life is my own, and school is a safe haven from press, and all that crap, so I'd rather not, okay?"

Her eyes are seeing through each layer, digging underneath, and she watches me for a long time, the minutes ticking by, and then she nods, smiling slightly,

"Alright, but apologize to Lola when you get a chance you idiot,"

I sigh and duck my head as she goes to hit it, raising my eyebrows and taking a strand of her hair, playing it between my fingers, the strands are soft and smell fragrant,

"Whatever you say crazy,"

We watch each other for a moment, and then she giggles, head shaking as she snatches her bag from my strong hands and walks out the door, casting me a glance over her shoulder, and our eyes meet, and each time everything stops.

Her eyes hold a fear, and it is reflected in mine, we are both scared, we are both terrified, we are worried that Dom is not okay, that we will not be okay, but we have to be, because there is one thing I never do, and that's giving up. I am strong, I will not be defeated.

She sends a grin, flashing like lightning, and I feel my heart boom. I cannot get used to it. Ever since we came back to this world, to Hogwarts something has shifted, in our relationship. We have a silent understanding, that we care, that we are faithful, and there is nothing else to say, we are silent in our understanding, and we are brave in it. We are here for each other, no matter what, through whatever.

We have never sat down and talked about it, this new, and incredible us, but it is known, between us that it is important, and sacred, and here.

I start to follow her, to class, but stop, watching her.

I am not a watcher, I do not watch other people, they are unimportant, I am watched because I am a god, I am worth watching because I am the best of the best, and one day they will know just how much I have done for them, the ungrateful followers. I admit, people should watch me, I deserve to be watched, so why waste my time looking at others when there is a mirror, and my face, my eyes, my body is defined as number one, so who could possibly be better, why look at less, those who will never come to my level, why waste precious moments of time I could be using to live, to die.

But then she came into my life. Bloody BlackThorne, and she smiled, and she had a grin like fire, and it kindled, and set a flame to something I have never felt before, a desire to watch her, all day, every day, to waste away my precious time of my short life, just sitting and staring, I think I could watch her breathing, the air that slips out and in her lips is fascinating enough to captivate my attention for the rest of my life.

Rox pushes her off, and Rose stumbles, her bag slipping from her shoulder and onto the ground, boom, and she is turning, hair flying in the slight breeze, eyes wide, I can see her pupils shrink with the sunlight of the new day, who new sunlight could be such a blessing.

"What are you looking at?"

I don't hide it, its Fred who speaks, and I have nothing to hide, I am proud of her, Rose, I am proud that she can smile, that she can glow, that she breathes, I have never been proud of someone else before, only me, only me is worth the pride.

I tilt my head, voice honest,

"A goddess,"

Fred follows my gaze and laughs, hitting me on the back, eyes sparkling,

"You've lost it man; I don't even recognise you,"

I bump his shoulder, but continue to stare, he sighs, grinning,

"Where is the narcissistic, egotistical brat that we all love so much?"

I hit him over the head, eyes not moving,

"He is still here; just now he has a gem that is very precious, something to fight for,"

Fred full on laughs, and steps in front of me, blocking my view, eyebrows raised,

"Bro, seriously pull yourself together, it's gonna get creepy, okay, like stalker, insane, things like that,"

I give him a sharp glare, and hit Fred over the head, causing him to stumble forward, into the sea of students, and I laugh at his outraged expression, voice mocking,

"Worry about your own mental stability Fred, I'm doing fine…."

He rolls his eyes, and slings an arm over my shoulder, it weighs nothing, and he leans closer, eyes worried,

"But why did you have to choose her, she is an odd one Jay,"

I give him a long glance, and arch an eyebrow, head shaking,

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He shakes his head, murmuring,

"Nothing…"

I give him a long look. And sigh, eyes trying to convince him to tell me, but he lowers his gaze, so Ii hit him over the top of my head, my voice jokey,

"You are seriously not gonna tell me! Where does you loyalty lie?"

He grins at me and takes cover as I try to grab his hair, and yank it out, eventually he responds,

"Merlin James, can you take a deep breathe every once in a while?"

I stick out my tongue, my grin flashing across my face, and he rolls his eyes, his voice amused,

"Sometimes you act like you are mature and cool, but I know the real you, James, the real you is a four year old,"

I let out a rage full scream, and tickle him, and he laughs, eyes wide with shock, hands hitting at my hands, eventually he gives up with pushing me off, and lets out a groan, telling me in a hushed voice of what he meant,

"I saw scars, all over her arms, and not normal ones, nail marks, bruises,"

I am silent, my fists going slack and hands falling by my side, deep in thought. And he gives me a long look, and goes on, voice trembling,

"So I thought it was self-harm, but when I saw her last week, they were gone, all of them, as if they never existed, but that's not possible…"

The bell rings, and he goes to continue, but I stop him, my hand over his mouth, as I watch Sheila and her friends walk by, she halts and gives me a long look. And chuckles, dark, her voice still sickening, thick,

"Extend my concerns to Rose about her leg; I hope she is feeling better, so unfortunate that she fell in the bathroom last week,"

I roll my shoulders back, and crack my knuckles, leaning down until we are level, voice wicked,

"Yes, I patched her all up, it was very intimate,"

She swallows, blinking several times, and I grin, mocking her,

"What, jealous?"

She pushes me away, and laughs softly, head looking down, and she shakes it, eyes glassy,

"She is beautiful James, prettier than me, she is kind too, I'm not kind."

She pauses, and glances at the eyes that watch us, and she bites her cheek, eyes sad,

"Wish her good luck for me. She is so innocent, how will she ever survive the eyes, huh James? When I couldn't…"

She tips her head, and adjusts her bag, walking away from me. And I watch her leave, my smile disappearing. How will she? She won't. But she has to. I let out a breath, and turn to glance at Fred, but he has already disappeared into the crowd. And I wince, hand running over my face. I was too harsh with him. And a voice rings in my head. To treat him better, as my equal. Often I forget that Fred cares about me, that they all do. It is nice, having someone care.

I leave the stairs, and ditch class. I need a voice, a friend. I need Albus. He got sick sometime last week, and still hasn't recovered, refusing to take the weird draughts that Madame Pomphrey creates as medicine. He has always been rather careful of potions, probably because when we were younger I would torment him, by putting weird things in his drinks, in his soup, under his pillow.

I must admit I have never been and will never be the best brother out there. But I try, sometimes.

The Slytherin dorm is far beneath the world, in the dungeons, and I pause at the common room door, and give the beautiful portrait a cunning grin. And she huffs, opening for me, voice silky,

"You don't pay me any attention anymore James, you never come and visit anymore, I shouldn't let you in,"

I send her a coy smile, and she rolls her eyes. The dorm room is empty, and cold, but not unbearable, the kind of cold that makes your eyes open wider, and you grin, I love grinning, it makes my jaw line more prominent.

I don't knock, but open the door of the third year's boys dormitory with a loud bang. And I immediately regret not knocking. Freezing as soon as I see them.

Albus is on the bed, surrounded by tissues, but next to him, with his head resting on Albus' shoulder is a blonde haired boy. Malfoy.

I let out a deep breathe, and clear my throat, making a very loud noise, and Albus jumps up, pushing Scorpius' head off of his chest quickly and reaching for a shirt, hands trembling, watching me with a very vivid gaze. Malfoy doesn't move. And I thank every god that at least he has clothes on.

I swallow the burning rage, thinking of Rose, the corridor, her hands on mine, her smile vivid,

" _Except Malfoy James,"_

I blink, and rub my temple, grumbling, as Albus walks towards me, hands reaching for me, but I back away, eyes dangerously golden,

"Don't touch me you sick person! I hate being ill, don't"

He grins and puts up his hands, backing away, eyes asking me if this is okay. If it can be okay. If just this once I can let it be okay. And I nod my gaze steady. Yes, Albus it is alright. And he smiles, wide, and it reaches his eyes, and lifts my heart. And I let out a smile, for him, my voice steady,

"I'll come back later,"

He nods and then sends Scorpius a sharp look, throwing a pillow at him,

"Go to class Scorp, you already missed a week for me,"

Scorpius stands and wraps his arms around Albus, chin resting on his shoulder, voice muffled,

"And I'd miss a thousand more for you,"

Albus grins and closes his eyes as he gives him a soft peck, just a blink of contact, but I look away, grumbling some not so good things under my breath. And I make my way down the stairs, glancing behind me, as Scorpius follows me, expressionless. We say nothing until we come out of the room, and past the beautiful portrait, who tisks. I stop walking. And so does he. And eventually I turn to faced him, my back finding the wall.

I stare at him. Scorpius, what does everyone love so much about him? What is so bloody interesting about him? He is handsome, but in a delicate, kind of broken way, so handsome doesn't seem to be the right word. He isn't funny, he hardly laughs, and when he does, it's soft. He isn't charming, he doesn't put in any effort to be noticeable, if anything he tries to go unnoticed, so why does Rose, Albus, everyone I'm close to somehow like him?

He watches me in silence and I him. To me he has always been a Malfoy, a villain, and more now than ever I want to punch him, hex him, because I wonder if Rose does not accept my touch, but does accept his, why? Because he is gentle, relatable? He doesn't lie? Wrong Rose, he does lie, but apparently you do to.

When I speak my voice is gruff, angered, but restrained, and my fists that curl to form this anger, my veins that pop, my heartbeat, all held back, because Rose likes him, so he must be good, even a little, right? She can't be that bad a judge of character, right?

My voice is taught,

"You can have him Malfoy,"

I pause, running a hand through my hair, my voice aggressive,

"But if you hurt a hair on his head I will personally murder you in the slowest, most horrible way possible,"

He stares at me, blue eyes piercing, and then he glances down, voice distant,

"I don't deserve him…"

I arch a brow, tongue running over teeth and nod my head, leaning forward,

"No, you don't…"

He gives me a sharp look. And looks away. His voice is soft; my ears strain to hear him,

"I don't need your permission to be with him, you don't own him,"

I roll my eyes, and chuckle, dark, teeth grinding, veins popping,

"No. You don't need my bloody permission, but if you don't want your life to be hell, I suggest you value my opinion,"

He tilts his head, voice still deadly quiet,

"I love how you casually threaten me every now and then,"

I grin, teeth flashing,

"I'm glad. Glad you recognise that I am no joke,"

His gaze wavers, and he looks down,

"No one is laughing Potter,"

I arch an eyebrow. We are silent for some time. And eventually he speaks; voice choked, a little scared,

"Rose has been distant; I see her not watching me, but you…"

I don't respond, but lower my gaze. And he goes on,

"I'm not jealous. I'm not nervous. Rose is smart, she knows what you are like, she wouldn't be acting how she is if she didn't know,"

I consider his words. He is right. She has not been close, not until she started to understand, not the façade but the me. I like how she wants to know me. No one has ever wanted to know me before. His voice is a little sad,

"You do not need my permission James, nor do I think me being against it will stop you, you are not someone to be controlled."

I nod, eyes a light with a flame and his voice becomes grieved,

"She is strong minded, she is stubborn, if her eyes are set on you, then you are screwed… And you are the luckiest man alive,"

I swallow, observing him from the floor up. His barefoot stance, wrinkled clothing, sharp collarbones, and high cheekbones, eyes interested, but a little worried. I lean on the wall, hands finding my pockets, and grin, my eyes dance,

"I am, aren't I?"

He shakes his head, and laughs, so very softly,

"Potter? Does she know about you?"

I freeze, and tilt my head. He is asking if she knows about how I am in the D.A and therefore an Auror. And the answer is yes. If she has read the diary, and experienced the spells, taken back in time, ripped through the pages of my life, then she already knows. But her character to me has not changed, other than the sense of acceptance, as she and I come closer.

And I grin, wide, and nod my head,

"Yes, she does Scorpius, she is learning, slowly, at her own pace, about me, _all aspects of me,"_

He swallows. A hand coming up, as if to strike me, but it lowers. I don't wince, I watch him, and his eyes hold demons, and his voice is a vicious whisper,

"You can't tell her about me, how I also am on the D.A,"

I tilt my head to the side, and sling my bag over my shoulder, my feet leaving at a leisurely pace, leaving him wondering, oh so hoping, and he yells after me,

"You are not the only one that can make threats James, Albus and I, we're close, he listens to me, wouldn't it be unfortunate if I told him some bad things you've done, just by accident,"

I am turning, and I don't need to run, my wand is already in my hand, the spell slipping through my mind like hell, it is raining, and he flies up, hands and feet flung back, suspended in the air, and I feel the blood rush in my veins. And I grin, lips stretching over skin, he breathes hard, fighting the hex, but it is pointless, I flick my wand, soft, and his hands are pulled behind him, and I stop, just before the bones snap, and become dislocated from his delicate shoulders.

I step forward, once, twice, and tilt my head, eyes daring him, and my voice is deadly, and I watch him, I watch the fear light his eyes, like smoke, and he will burn for what he says. It is menacing, my voice ringing,

"Careful Malfoy, you might just piss me off…"

My tongue runs over white teeth, my jaw prominent, he may be beautiful but I am gorgeous, he may be a Malfoy but I am a Potter he may have Albus' heart, but he does not have his blood. He may have Roses' interest, but I _will_ get her heart.

I lean forward, my words slithering like a snake,

"Rose loves you so much, but you have neglected her, and she has lost interest, just make sure you keep Albus focused, or his eyes may stray,"

I tilt my head back, Adams apple bobbing, and I smirk, cheek bones sharp, so sharp they could cut his delicate profile,

"I won't tell Rose your secret, but she is smarter than you give her credit for, and if she wants to know, then she will know."

His eyes hold a burning hatred, mixed with the fear, and he spits, it is hot, it sticks to my face, and he grimaces, that perfect face becoming warped,

"You a**hole, you bloody jerk,"

I blink slowly, and laugh, loud, high pitched, insane, and my eyes have changed, and reality is forgotten, he will pay for spitting, for disrespecting,

"You spit on me, when you know what I am capable of? You are such a fool Malfoy, such a fool,"

He shakes his head, eyes holding a sadness, and what he says, his words, they hurt me, they hurt me so I wince, I cannot help it,

"What does Rose see in you? Other than the monster, what can she possibly see?"

I don't know the answer, so I turn on my heels and walk away, whispering the spell underneath my breath and without looking back I release him from the binding charm. And just like that his body crashes to the ground, with a hollow thud, and I hear a string of curses, a string of anger, let him be pissed. Let him rage, I won't let her go. And though Rose is blind to how bad I am, blind to how horrible I am, she still is here. So I don't complain.

Night comes, and I check on Dom. She lies on the cot, her back to me; she is talking to herself, her words lulling. Madame Pomphrey says that her parents have been informed. And I think of poor Fleur, stressing about her depressed daughter. And Roxy and Lucy come in, soon after me, and sit by her side. Spending the night next to her. And with dawn's warmth, Valentine's Day arrives, after the very long time it has taken.

The sun holds sadness, and is barely noticeable. All I see is darkness, as thick clouds descend for a thunder storm later tonight. We get the day off. Simply because why not? We work hard at Hogwarts, a day off is not the end of the world. And yet we all rejoice.

Originally I planned for Valentine 's Day to be just me and Rose. But with the visit to Dom yesterday. My mind is changed. Us. All of us, need to live, and it is this us, incredible that all love each other.

The lake is clear. And the sun rises, until it is high in the sky. The snow has melted, slowly, and though the wind is chilly, I use spells to make it warm, to make it safe. And then they come. In twos, and threes. Us. We. And I wish I knew, that we, one day will be Legends. That there will be books written with our names in the title. On great romances, and incredible feats, I wish I knew then, that this us. All of us have a future of hell. Because then, I think I would have cherished it more.

And so they come. To the weeping willow, where the four, Marauders met, James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin. Today. It is the day, our future starts. And I wish I knew. Rose wishes too. The tree is old, it has a grown so big, larger than a house, towering over the world. First, comes Teddy with Victorie on his arm. They give me a hug, and they sit. I create tables out of thin air, drapes out of grass, roses out of water droplets, and little lanterns float in the sky, I create fake stars that shine for us. That shine for her.

Teddy's hand is strong, and his eyes are purple, and his voice touches my heart,

"This. All of us, coming together, it's a good idea,"

I grin, and pat him on the back,

"What can I say; I am a genius after all,"

He laughs, head shaking, and takes Victorie by the hand, the touch sweet, and they sit on the ground, hands interlaced.

Then comes Lysander and Scamander, John running after them, hair ruffled eyes wide. They are young, they are innocent. And they tackle me to the ground, and we are fighting, fists flying, and grass with it, clothes taring, and we are laughing, it is not a fight for power, it is a fight for freedom, and we are free. This we.

Then Fred, Roxy and Lucy beside him, and we simply watch each other. And then Lucy rolls her eyes, giving me a dead look,

"James give Fred a big smooch, and get over it,"

I grin,

"Great idea,"

And wrap my arms around him, trying to kiss him, as he screams for help, eyes wide, and Roxy takes out a muggle device and takes pictures, giggling. And the moment will last forever. When we are old we will look back at today as the best and the worst. And we will think, how blind, how idiotic. Yes we will. If we live that long.

Then, Albus, and Lily on his back, his hand wrapped around Scorpius' broad shoulders, and Lily is running at me, tackling me, she is wearing a ridiculous dress, puffy and white, smeared with dirt, she has a bright pink eye shadow on her eyes, and her fiery hair is flying behind her, and I kick at her, as she clings to me, making funny faces, screaming at me to laugh. And so I am, till I am doubled over on the ground clutching at Albus, begging him to save me. And I watch Malfoy's lips curve up slightly, but when he sees me looking, he fixes them back in a straight line. And gives me a dirty look, which I am quick to return.

Rose Weasley comes with Frank Longbottom on her arm, and gives me a long look, and her eyes find Scorpius and Albus' hands, interlocked. And she lets out a breath, and gives me a soft hug, her arms soft, her eyes clouded with emotion.

As they go towards the party. I grab at Frank and stop him from leaving, and turn him to face me, and I whisper, soft,

"Do you think Dom is pretty?"

He looks slightly startled, and lets out a laugh, voice booming,

"I'm not blind mate, she is stunning,"

I grin and give him a cunning look, and he looks slightly confused and then realises and laughs, going to hit me but I duck, and flip him over, and then we are rolling in the grass, as he yells at me about how Dom deserves better cousins. And again, we are laughing, and my lungs ache.

It is into the afternoon, when they arrive. Rose, V and Dom. Dom in the middle, she is beautiful, in white, flowers woven into her hair, eyes shining with a joy for living, and she is looking at us, she is watching us. She will always be watching us.

And Rose, her eyes are only on Dom, and V gives her a long look, and then gestures her head towards me, and takes Dom in her arms, leading her into the tent, by the weeping willow.

Rose is wearing a long dress, it is light blue, like the sky, and it is simple, not extravagant, no jewels, no gold. It is her. Beautiful without extravagance. She gives me a long look, and walks forward, until we are feet apart. Eyes dancing.

"I thought I was your Valentine Potter,"

I nod, and give her a small chuckle, and turn away, hand flying to my hair, eyes lighting with a passion,

"Yes, you are, but so are they, I think we are all each other's Valentines,"

She nods, and reaches for my hands, and I reach for hers, and I twirl her, fingers slipping over her skin, over her wrist, curving around her palm, her fingers closing on mine, and she steps closer, head tilted up to look at me, and then she looks past me, at the tree, it is still now. As no one approaches it. And she smiles, our hands interlaced, fingers woven together. My palm big, hers small. But equal. We are equals.

Her voice is soft,

"This is where it all began… Isn't it…?"

I nod, and wrap my arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder, eyes watching where she looks. She lets out a breathe of wonder, her voice like music,

"You are brave like him James, brave like your grandfather, brave like your father… Don't second guess that…"

I nod softly. And as I watch the wind flow, I can see them, as if they are the mist rising from the lake, the Marauders, and James he is laughing at something Sirius said, while Remus scolds. His eyes. James' eyes hold a power, hold a fire like mine, and I am stunned by them. And then I see her. Lily. She runs up, an exam paper clutched in her hand, red hair streaming behind her, and she wraps her arms around him. And they are turning in the air; I can hear their laughter, whispered in the wind. Whispered from the past.

I swallow.

Her voice is soft when she speaks, her voice is magical,

"Will we ever do great things like they did?"

I nod again, my voice softer than hers,

"We will do incredible things Rose, I promise…"

She glances up at me, inches apart. And she smiles, her eyes are still sad, but I am here, arms wrapped around her, and I pull her closer closing my eyes and letting out a trapped breath. She is warm. She is solid. She is living. She will live. I will make sure of it.

We enter the tent. Outside is day, but in here, it is night, and the stars shine brightly, fake, a full moon, shining like oblivion. And the candles float on air, making the room have long shadows. And one long table, dined in food of every variety, we all sit. In our groups. Me and Rose sit next to each other at the head of the table, and Albus and Scorpius at the opposite side. And we laugh, and we talk, and we eat until we cannot breath. And eventually I stand.

Raising my glass with me. I am their leader. I am chosen to lead them. These people, in this room are the future. My voice is strong; it has never been this strong before,

"Today is the day we celebrate our loved ones, and here in this room, is everyone, everything we need to survive, to live, to be happy,"

I look at each face. Fred, eyes locked with mine, proud, Victorie, leaning on Teddy's shoulder, smiling up at him, Teddy scanning the room, each face, each person, each of their futures, eyes changing colour with emotion. My friends, John, Lysander, Scamander, nodding, eyes wide, breath caught. Albus, grinning, he loves me, god, he loves me so much. Scorpius, his eyes on Rose, watching Rose, loving Rose. Lily, eating a crème brulee silently, eyes wide, frosting on her cheek. Rose Weasley, watching Scorpius watch Rose, who Albus owns, his Malfoy. Roxy and Lucy, eyes on Dom, eyes sad, eyes hopeful, eyes unaware of the future. V, she looks only at me, and she gives me a small nod, encouragement, it is all I need. Dom, her eyes do not see me, her eyes are on Frank, and they are pained, as if she knows she is running out of time. And so Frank watches her and she watches him.

And Rose. I do not need to look at her, for her hand if holding mine under the table, fingers soft, and she gives my hand a squeeze, as if to say you can do it, I believe in you.

And I go on, voice shaking,

"We are the future; each and every one of us is the future. And it iis scary, I hate admitting I'm scared, but the future, it scares me,"

I nod, lowering my eyes, and then I smile, brilliant, and let out a laugh,

"I love you, all of you, yes and you Malfoy, as much as I hate to say it,"

They chuckle, and Scorpius rolls his eyes. And I let out a breath,

"We are brave, no matter what house we are from, we are brave, no matter what family we are from, we are brave, and we are brave because we have each other, and that is all we need, right?"

Rose's fingers intertwine with mine, and I can feel her pulse, running wild, boom, and boom, and boom it goes. And my voice fills the room, it fills it all,

"We are the next generation. And we cannot be us, without each other, so let us raise our glasses to that, to this new, and incredible us, for we are one, and we will last forever,"

And the glasses are raised, and time stops, a click and Roxy takes the photo. It is captured, the first time fate was challenged. Back then we were so young. I was young. I had still not learned how to control it. My magic. I had still not kissed the girl I loved. I had still not lived entirely. I had still not known death. Changed the world. We are so young, we are so naive, and we are only this us with each other. And so we live through each other, and for each other. And therefore we are forever. We are legends. We are monsters. We are the future. Your future. So watch out.

The day goes by, in laughter, in soft touches, in food, and drink, and we raise our glasses over and over, cheering things like Dom's head dress, and Fred's jokes, that make each of us wince but we would never tell him just how bad they are. And it is the beginning. Isn't it? Of the next generation. It is the first meeting, with all of us in the same room, breathing the same air, living the same moment. The first of many.

And then we are dancing, close, softly. Rose curtsies, eyelashes fluttering, and I pull her close, eyes closed, our hands wrapped around each other, and she whispers, voice soft, as we sway to the music, flowing in the air,

"James, your speech was incredible, I'm proud,"

I rest my chin on the top of her head, and murmur back,

"Why?"

She laughs softly, and leans into me, eyes closed,

"Because you are brilliant, and I am very lucky, aren't I?"

I nod, and she giggles, hands giving me a slight slap, but it is light and childish, it is young, and I like it. The youth of it. But we are broken apart, Lily smiling up at me, grinning,

"Can I have the next dance you disgusting dinosaur?"

Her voice is small, her expression comical, and I grin, lifting her up onto my shoulders, and she squeals. I pull Rose close again, and it is the three of us. The two women in my life I care the most about. My sister, and this new, incredible and slightly insane Ravenclaw.

And the moment could last forever it feels like it should, but it is broken. It is broken like glass. And it shatters. And it is Frank, voice loud, that yells the words, and it is Frank, oh poor Frank who saw her first.

I remember his words. We all will. For it was Valentine's Day, February 14th that death came, and did us apart. And so he screamed, one name, four words, and I began to run.

He is breathless, eyes wide like a wild animal, hands trembling, and he is gasping for air, for life, for anything, and so he speaks. And it breaks. Everything breaks. A long with my heart.

Five, four, three, two, one. He says,

"Dom… She isn't moving…"

I am running, I have never run so fast, Lily is taken by Rose, her arms shaking, her eyes wide, and in them I see blame. As if she knew this would happen. As if she was waiting for it. And as I run, as I run I can see things. I can see a promise made by Minerva McGonagall that everything would be okay. That Dom would be fine. But Dom isn't fine. I am running by houses, by places, by hearts, and my heart, this heart, is pounding, and I cannot tell if it is adrenaline or fear, or the pain of loss that sends me whirling through the air, and I am apparating.

And then I see her. She is on the ground. And it is game over.

I stare at Dom. She is limp. Why is she limp? It doesn't make any sense. She just needs rest, I was getting a potion, it will help her, and it will make her remember me. My name, I'm James, how could anyone forget my name, my name is one of a kind. Dom, you must know me, merlin, you have to. You are my sister, by love, love? What is this James? Why are you so scared? She is fine. She is Dom, she doesn't need anyone to take of her, because she is strong, she protects her friends, she protects others, and she doesn't need protecting, right?

But she does not look fine. Her chest is ripped to shreds, blood pools onto the ground, and where her heart should be, is a gaping hole, and there is an empty feel, a war is at the start. And my feet are hitting the ground. Don't worry Dom. I am coming, like hell I am.

Veins lay torn on the ground, I can see arteries popped, and the white of bone, the blood reflects the sky. Setting in all its glory, as time refuses to halt. I have saved lives before, the feeling, of hearing their heart boom and keep going. It is bliss, it is pride. I am narcissistic in my pride. So I can save her. You can do anything James, right?

I am running. The wind is cold. I cannot remember the last time I was cold. It feels like it is all shutting down, my mind, my world. But why? Why James, you have seen death, you have killed, blood on your hands, you monster, you disgusting, terrible person. She is dead. She has to be. There is no other option, but I refuse.

I have to save her, I'm James bloody Potter, it's what I do, I save people, I have to, because one day they have to save me, they have to remember me. Dom, you must last forever with me, you must make a difference, you must live, you must. You hear me?

I am on the ground, I am by her side, my hands are trembling. They never tremble, I am steady, I am careful, I don't let my heart go because it can be hurt, it can be broken, so I hide, I am good at it, so why does this hurt? What is this? Pain? What is this? Tears? Since when did the world hurt this much? Why can't I breathe, I need to breathe, James you have to be strong, you are the strong one, no matter what, always. Wake up James, you can't give in, you are strong.

Fight. Breathe. Repeat.

My wand is in my hands, my palms are sweaty, I can't breathe, and it slips. Why am I nervous? Have faith in yourself, you're a Potter, everyone here expects you to save her, to pull out a spell no one has ever heard of, and they will pat you on the back and forget all you have done the day after, and that's okay. Because one day they will remember.

I can't hear. There is a buzz, I can see people's mouths moving, but I cannot understand. I have to save, I have to make a difference, it is my job to chance this world, I rid the evil, I save, Dom, I will save you.

My hands are on hers, I can hear a pulse, I can feel the gentle rhythm of life, weakened, but she won't give up on me. Don't give up on me.

And then I hear it. Rose. She is screaming. She is screaming Wake up. She is on her knees, she also can't breathe, she is clutching, pulling a corpse to her body, her hands are desperate. She also can't see. She is shaking, she is wondering if she can survive this, if she can live without her, and she is finding an answer, that she cannot. She also can't hear. She also feels numb.

She trembles like a leaf, she is yelling, I can hear it. Her voice is like thunder. It echoes, as if her words are trapped on repeat, destroying me. My lips are parted, my hair matted with sweat. I haven't run that hard in years. I haven't been scared in years.

Rose's voice is hoarse, but I can hear it,

"Dom, I'm here, please, listen, you can't give up, I'm here, everything will be okay, I'm here now, you have to hold on, okay, listen to me Dom, you have to live. For me. For me."

There are times in life where it is all over. And there is no future, there is no end, the beginning, it all, swirls into this darkness. My hands are shaking. And I can see the stars; they have never shined so bright. They are beautiful, those stars, I wish I could escape to them. I wish I was them, and my only job would be to shine. I can do that. I can shine just by breathing. But I have forgotten how to breathe, how the air is supposed to reach your lungs if they are collapsing.

In life they teach you things, your parents teach you to be kind, to care, and then grieve when death happens. Your teachers show you how to cope with anxiety, depression, pain. Your friends show you how to live, how to smile, how to cry. Your girlfriends show you how to break up, how to make your heart more mature. But no one ever shows you how to breathe. It sounds simple. But for me, the complicated things come easily; it's the simple, easy things I can't understand. Like why I am crying…

And I am falling, and then I hear it, in the buzz of silence, I hear it, its Dom, we are young, so very young, her little hand is reaching for mine, is reaching for me, she is always reaching for me, she is short, three feet, cheeks chubby, her eyes are wet with tears, I remember, sitting next to her, my voice soft,

"Don't cry."

I remember her looking up at me, and she shook her head, her voice tiny,

"I am scared James. I don't want to be alone, I want to grow old, I want to live forever,"

I remember bumping her shoulder, smiling,

"We just have to take each day, one by one and we will be okay, I promise,"

I remember her watery smile, her small hiccups, and the sniffles, her nose all runny, her voice small,

"James protect me till the end, right? And if I do die,"

I remember her face, in the moonlight, her hands on mine, her fingers stubby, the stars had been beautiful that night too,

"If I die James, please do not be sad; tell me you will live on for me, promise,"

I remember laughing, ruffling her blonde hair, she hated it back then too, my voice was amused, why was it amused?

"I can't live without you, without any of you, we all need each other, we will all grow old together, I promise we will all grow old together,"

I remember her eyes shining, her head heavy on my shoulder, her hands warm,

"James, one day we will not all be here still, so we need to move on, to live without each other,"

My hands are shaking; I can see stars, darkness. I can still see the soft tear stains on her cheeks, her blue eyes were filled with a worry, and I wonder if she knew, if there was a way she knew that she wouldn't make it. But she needs to make it. Because I love her, she is my cousin, my sister, she is one of us, one of this beautiful us, so she has to stay, she can't leave, not like this, not without goodbye.

"Promise me."

I remember shaking my head, but eventually, after lots of arguing, I remember saying,

"If I cannot save you, Dom, then I will move on for you, I promise…"

I remember pausing, and pulling her close, voice thick,

"But I will save you, every time, no matter what."

The world is not turning, the world is frozen and I can hear her, her breath is shallow, she has no heart, her chest is torn open, she is unformed, she is tortured, it is not the death she deserves, she deserves the best, so why this? I can't. I can't let her go. She will grow old with me, she has to.

There are three laws that cannot be broken. Time, death, and love. I can break time, I can mould it, I don't know how, but I can, I can. Nothing is impossible. And I cannot live without her; I cannot face the world without her. She must remember me; she must watch me, just one more time, just one last time. She deserves the best, she deserves a chance, this is hell, this world is not fair, but I am a god, I am above, I can save her. I have to. I promised her I would. I never break a promise. The ground is cold; my hands are covered in something red. But it cannot be blood, I refuse, it isn't blood. It can't be, because Dom deserves so much more, if she just could smile one more time, it would be enough. If I could die instead of her, if they killed me instead of her it would be enough.

Why is the ground stained red, why is it crimson, why can't I breathe? Death. It is final. But I refuse, death is not final, death cannot be final, I refuse to believe, to let this happen, I am above, I am me. I am James bloody Potter. And this is Dom we are talking about, Dom who is always there, trailing behind us, why did I never love her? Why did I never love her?

Her smile is perfect, she has prefect teeth. She is allergic to pepperoni, of all incredible things. I always tease her about it. She hates me for it. Good. I deserve to be hated.

Rose is on the ground, her wand is in her hand and she is murmuring spells, her voice incoherent. She is praying, she does not know to whom, she needs me. Rose needs you James. Rose will not survive this world without Dom. You cannot lose her too, Rose is everything, Rose is everything. Rose is all I can wake up too; Rose owns it, my heart. I cannot loose her like this, I need her, I cannot live without her. ROSE NEEDS YOU JAMES. WAKE UP YOU FOOL. SAVE HER.

My wand slips, it hits the ground. But I do not need a wand, I am strong, I can save her, I can change the world if I want to, I can change it all, I am incredible like that. Right? RIGHT!?

History is watching you James. History is daring you. History is telling you to change it all. History is judging you. It is time to rise James. You have to rise. I can see them, my father, my mother, Hermione, I have never seen Hermione broken, she is sobbing, she is running, sending fire messages for doctors, for help, for a way to cope with the pain that is coming. And her eyes they tell me that she has seen this a thousand times, and that she wishes, oh how she wishes that she will never see it again.

And Fleur. She apparated into the scene of swirling smoke, of ash, and the setting sun, bathed in the colours of heaven, but she does not want heaven, she wants heaven to go away. There is a bond between mother and daughter. Between the creator and their loved, and she does not move, she cannot move. She has also forgotten how to breathe.

Always composed, always smiling, always mannered. She does not sob. She stands, and she stares. Her body trembles, and the tears slip down her cheeks silently. Her lips shake, her hands are fists, nails breaking skin, I can see blood dripping from them, onto the ground, fusing with the blood of her dying daughter. She is broken, her hands are fists of iron, she is angry, at herself, at everything. And she falls to her knees. Her knees hit the ground. Boom. And she does not look at Dom, but at me, and she is pleading, a mother that cannot, that cannot face this. She cannot. She will not survive. They are all looking at me, they need me. Rose, Fleur, Hermione, Dom. Dominique Weasley needs you James. She cannot live without you, she will die James. The blood will be on your hands if you do not change the world, you need to change the world.

"James."

Her voice is soft, like hell, like pain, my hands are clasped in hers, I can hear a soft pulse, it trembles, it shakes, it is not strong, it will not last the hour, she is dying James, she is nothing without me,

"James. Take care of them for me, you have to-,"

My head is shaking, her hands, they are going limp, no, they can't go limp. She needs a miracle, she needs an angel. But I am not an angel, I am the devil, I cannot save her. I cannot. How can I be strong? I am weak, I am broken, I cannot be strong. I am failing.

And I remember. A new voice. It's my fathers. It was after the first time I killed someone. It was not on purpose. Or maybe it was. I remember the spell, slipping from between my lips, and I wonder if I had known that he was too weak to deflect it. I remember his body crumpling. In a flash, and you cannot go back. There is no back. None.

I remember what he said. He whispered it to me, as I clinged to him, tears slipped down my cheeks then too. I had been scared of what it meant, giving up. He had said,

"James, you cannot control death, but you can prevent it for as long as possible…"

I find my voice, it is soft, it is a whisper,

"Stay alive for me, you hear me Dom?"

She shakes her head, her eyes are glacy, she cannot blink, I lean closer, just over her ear, my breath soft,

"Stay alive…"

She smiles, her lips bleed, and a single tear slips down her cheek, her voice is broken,

"I don't want to die like this, James? I don't want to die like this…"

I nod, her fingers slip, and I grab onto them, the tear is clear, just one, it traces the outline of a stunning face, over the arch, the curve, it is like glass. And in it I see a thousand memoires, a thousand dreams, she just wanted to live. God dam it she just wanted to live. It isn't fair.

She lets out a sob, and coughs, her lips are stained red, why? Why are they red? Why can I not hear her breathe, she needs to breathe. Breathe for me Dom. She takes in a shaky breath, the air is hollow, I watch it echo down her throat, her voice is just a shadow of who she was,

"I am scared James. It hurts,"

And Rose is there, her hand swiping away the tears, I can hear Rose's heart break, I can hear it, it is like the breaking of the world, it is the end of everything. Rose's lips re moving she is screaming for help, for anyone, her eyes are wide, I can see the whites, she is like a wild animal, and in those eyes I see it. A blame. She thinks Dom is dying because of her. And I can't let her think that. I want to say it isn't your fault, it isn't anyone's. But I cannot tell a lie. We are all to blame. We all should have noticed. Dam it.

She clings to me, Dom, with one last glamour of life, one last burst of breath, just one last flicker of the flame before it burns out, before it is snuffed by death. Her lips are cracked, her teeth are a sickly black, from that crimson blood, or from poison, I cannot tell. Her tongue lays limp, it does not move when she speaks, the vibration of her desperate voice keeps me steady, stay steady. And so she speaks,

"Make the pain go away, it hurts, oh James, I cannot live, it hurts too much,"

I shake my head, and there are tears, on my cheeks, I am crying. I have never cried before. Not like this.

"I can't. Oh Dom, I don't know how, I wish-,"

Frank is there, he stands behind me, he does not move. He stares. They all do. And V is there, her hands on Rose, holding her, she is holding Rose because I cannot, because I am suddenly weak, I am suddenly so very weak. She is crying, V is screaming, for help, for God, for anyone. I can see the medics, they are running, they are coming to take her away. They cannot take her away. She is my Dom, she is my cousin, she is my friend, she cannot leave, I need to save her. It's my job. I'm James Potter. If she asks me to make the pain go away then I will. It is my job. I have a duty. Do you hear me James? You have to.

I hear it. The last breath, the last slip of air, it is cold, it has been cold for weeks, and I have been blind, I have been a fool. It is all my fault. It is all my fault.

"Dom, listen to me, you have to listen to my voice, I am going to try something, you hear me? I am going to save you, I promised you. So I will. Okay?"

She is shaking her head, she has no more tears, her eyes swim with them, sadness, grief. I will save her. They can live without me. I am worth nothing compared to her, I will save her, my wand is in my hand, and I am murmuring a spell, it is foreign to my lips, I am creating it, the emotions, this fear is creating it, I can save her, a life for a life. My life is worthless. My mind works in patterns, it can see things I cannot, it can hunt them, and it finds them. Solutions this world does not know, solutions this world will never know.

But hands stop me, small hands, they are warm, and I turn and Rose shakes her head, her hands tremble, her voice choked,

"I can't live without you James, I can't live without you, I can't…"

There are tears running down her cheeks, they are broken, she is broken, she falls, onto the ground, head shaking, her hand forming a fist, grip like iron on my wrist, and she whispers over and over,

"I need you James. Please, there must be, please, I can't…."

She lets go of me, hands covering her face, hands covering her face, and she is screaming, at the top of her lungs, she is screaming because she has lost it all, the world, and she knows me, she knows me so well. And she cannot live without me. And Rose must live. But Dom can't die. And I whisper, my voice broken,

"You will learn to forget me Rose, I promise, with time, you will learn to live without me, live every day like your last Rose, understand? You have to. And make sure they remember me, they have to, I have done so much, I have done so much…"

But Rose shakes her head, her smile is sad. And her words are twisted with a bitter, dark hatred, self-hatred,

"I chose right. I rather her than V. I chose who my heart loved less. And now she will die, she must die, mustn't she? Its fate. It's over James, it's all over…"

And I watch her. I love watching her. She has so many emotions, but she supresses them, because she needs to help others, rather than herself. But I wish she was selfish. I wish she wouldn't care so much, so that her heart would not be so hurt. And I don't understand her words. But I will show her it is not over. And I let go of Dom's hands, and I take her, Rose, in my arms, and my lips touch her skin, rushed, hasty, soft, loving. And her eyes close as tears fall, I kiss her forehead, her head bent in sorrow, and I whisper,

"Promise to not miss me…"

And I continue the spell, just a few more lines, but her hand goes limp, her fingers uncurl, and the soft, steady boom, the lullaby of her pulse ends. And there is no sound. It is over. In a flash. In a matter of minutes we lose our innocence, our childhood, our friend, our life, we lose everything.

There are moments that words cannot explain. There is suffering to terrible to name. And so you hold her, and you pretend it is okay, it has to be okay. You smile; she would want you to smile. It is empty. Death. It is empty, it is like a flower, dead, you cannot make it bloom again, you cannot, but you can remember it. And so the world takes pity on the Potters today, on me. And it is unimaginable, it is not possible. So we freeze, time is endless. Words cannot reach it. Life cannot complete. She is in my arms, if only a few more seconds, if only I had saved her sooner if only I was dead, if only I was on the ground instead. There are challenges. And no one can replace her. Nothing can. She is our friend, she is my cousin.

Rose is on the ground, she lies parallel to Dom, her hand intertwined with hers. And her eyes, they close as the last beat of pulse brushes against her skin. It is thanks to Rose than she lived this long. Rose knows spells I do not. It was elvish, what she had whispered, her first instinct, like mine was to save, to take the pain away. It made Dom have an artificial heart, a fake heartbeat, a pulse, it only lasted minutes, all of this only minutes.

Rose lies there emotionless, eyes hutting out the horror but the tears still fall, slipping down her cheeks from shut eyes. She is pretending she will wake up and it will be okay. Her lips are parted, they tremble. And she squeezes her eyes close, her breathing shallow. And then she opens them. Her eyes. And she shakes her head. Just once. And then, like a hurricane, a storm it comes. Words. Ugly, horrid words, they spill from her lips, not all in the same language, not all in the same form. Some twisted, some kind, and she is shaking, and slowly, she lets go of Dom's hand. Her fingers slipping from the dead.

And her small arms wrap around herself, holding her together, and she rocks herself, back and forth, murmuring tears like ice falling endlessly. In her tears I see Dom smiling; I see them by the lake, in the bathroom, nail polish in hand. I see Dom on the train, younger and older. I see Dom in the dark, hair woven with flowers, I see….

There is no God. There is no future. There is only hell; there is only pain, and blame and this sickening anger.

Her fingers slip from mine, boom, her hand goes slack, and her eyes freeze, and she smiles, she is beautiful, like an angel. Boom. Her hand falls back, onto the ground, her muscles relax. She is not in pain anymore, she looks peaceful, as if she is happy. I am glad she is happy. Be happy.

The little vein in her throat stops moving, there is no more sound in this world. It is the end. She is looking at the sky. The sun is setting for her. I have never cared for the sun, or how it set, Rose cares, Dom cares, why don't I care?

I hate me. You had one job James, you stupid idiot, you had one job, to save her and you could have. You are capable of miracles. And one last tear traces her cheek, it is not clear, it is red. All the red, the red on my clothes, the red on her lips, the red in her veins, it is blood; it is the blood of the dead. There is a pain we cannot name. And so we push it away, the grief, the possibility. There are no words. And we suffer, together. Frank falls to his knees, and he screams, long, it doesn't break the silence. Nothing can.

There is a last breath, it is soft, it is just a whisper, just a silent plea, and her lips turn up, at the corners, she is at peace. But I am not. I am not okay. I need to protect her. I need to be strong, for them now, if I cannot save her, I will save them, Rose, Frank, V, Fred, who comes running, horror painted on his face, Roxy who is in hysterics, laughing at the top of her lungs, breathy, broken, as if she has lost her mind. And maybe we have.

And softly, so very softly Dominique Weasley speaks her last words, they are quiet, they are desperate, they are kind. She was always so kind. Her speech shakes, her voice quakes, but we all hear it, all of us, holding our breathes, listening, it is all we can do, because it is too late to do anything else.

And with her last breath she says,

"Live for me… Every moment, live it like it is your last…."

Boom. Over. And the red tear that traces her cheek, running over her cheekbone, over her face, slipping down until it rests on the arch of her chin, it trembles there, it is dark, it signifies all that I cannot face. I cannot face. But I can face anything I'm James. I'm strong. I don't cry. I never cry.

I stand. My legs shake. My wand is forgotten, I stare ahead, but I cannot see a horizon. I look around, these people, they are my people. I must protect them. They are my family, they are my world. Fred, holding Roxy in his arms, trying to calm her down, his eyes are red, bloodshot. Frank, Lucy is by his side, hand on his shoulder, she is whispering something; she is trying to tell him to breathe, when she has forgotten how. Albus, Scorpius holding onto him, as he stares, unable to move, to comprehend, their hands interlock, they love each other. Scorpius' hands wrap around him, but his eyes, they look to Rose, and they hold a fear that she will never be the same. And I fear it too. We both do.

John Prewett and Lysander, trying to stop Scamander from running at her, at anyone, from fighting, from killing whatever he can get his hands on, he is angry, he is raging mad. John looks me in the eyes, and he wants to reach me, to help me, he knows that it is over, that I cannot handle this, not this, but he does not know how to help me. No one does. Fleur, and Bill, Victorie, are running to Dom, screaming, they are checking for a pulse, I watch their faces loose hope, loose life. And Teddy is there, he stops Victorie from collapsing, his eyes are scared, he does not understand, his eyes find mine, they change colour with every blink, he is terrified, he cannot control it, and he too, wants to help me, he wants to because he knows I watched her die in my arms, my Dom, our Dom.

My dad is there, he is shaking his head, he is blaming himself, he is putting up spells, to ward off the rest of the world, to hide us, the grieved for just a moment, because this moment counts. It counts.

My mom clutches at Lily, hiding her eyes, from the corpse, the bloody chest, the wrenched out heart, the bloodied wrist, the gruesome sight, the empty eyes. And my mom also looks to me, she is scared, she is scared I won't survive this. And I don't think I want to.

But then my eyes find Rose. She is staring at her, Dom. She is smiling, whispering to her, she is refusing to believe it, she tries to laugh, but it turns into a sob, and she clings to Dom, trying to make her sit up, fixing her hair, she murmurs soft things, her lips smiling, but not her eyes, placing her lips on hers, breathing air into her dead lungs. Her wand shakes in her hands, but she does not give up, she tries every spell, every spell, trying to heal, she speaks in ancient tongue, she recites the spell I was just saying, but she does not know the end, so she cannot save, and all is pointless. But unlike the rest, she does not give up hope. She wipes her tears frantically, her hands are shaking, her nails covered in blood, the red sticky substance smears across her cheeks. She takes the hands, and the world. She brings them to her lips and breathes, trying to warm the cold flesh. She is shaking her head; she is rocking herself back and forth, singing a broken lullaby to the sleeping corpse.

She keeps shaking her head, her breath unsteady. And V is trying to tell her that she needs to be okay, that she needs to breathe, to remember that it isn't over, but for Rose it is.

I can see it in her eyes. Rose is giving up; she does not want to live. She wants to die; she wants the pain to be over. But she can't die. Because I can't live without her. I can't. So I will live for her, for you Rose, and I will teach you how to breathe again, how to live again. It is not the end of the world. Nothing is. Those are your words Rose. I will prove them to you, I will prove it all to you .I cannot save Dom, but I can save you. I will save you. I swear I will. It isn't your fault Rose; promise me you will understand that it isn't your fault. Please.

Scorpius leaves Albus and goes to her, to Rose, and she turns to him, her eyes fearful, and she screams, and the world comes into focus, and I can hear again, hear her words,

"Why isn't she waking up? Scorp? Why isn't she breathing? I don't understand? Why?"

She shakes her head, grabbing onto Dom's hand and she presses it to her chest, to her heart, tears streaming down her face,

"Be strong Dom, it'll be over soon, the pain, I promise, do you hear me, tell you me hear me, please, please,"

She falls to the ground, gasping for air, and her hands are balled into fists and she hits herself, over and over, screaming, she is angry, she is raging mad. Her voice cracks, her words are harsh, her hands clutching, frantic.

"Wake up, listen to me, I am here, I am here Dom, I am so sorry, I shouldn't have chosen, please understand that I love you,"

Her breath is ragged, she screams again,

"Look the doctors are here, they will save you, when I can't…"

She is scrambling to her feet, and she tries to make Dom stand, cradling the corpse to her chest. And I am walking forward, my feet heavy, my gaze strong. And I push them out of the way, V, Scorpius, and I wrap my arms around her, and I pull her close. And I can feel it, she is home, I am safe in her arms, and she is safe in mine. And I whisper what she needs to hear. And she leans into me, and we are one. My voice is broken,

"I am here Rose. And I will never let you go,"

And I know that together we will make it through this. And that Rose needs me to be strong so I will be strong; she needs me to be strong because she is lost. She has lost it. The will to live. I can see it in her eyes. I can see it. But I can make those eyes shine again. Because Dom asked me too, and I repeat it, Dom's words to her, because she needs to hear it, because then she will understand,

"Live for me… Every moment, live it like it is your last…."

The body is dragged away, and the scene is cleared, the blood erased, and slowly, one by one we leave. In pairs, alone, in groups, all of our eyes bloodshot, our bodies numb with pain. But we do not move. I cradle her, as she cries, for hours, she says nothing. There is nothing worth saying. It is over. Her life. It is all over. And as dusk, and then night descends we stand. And people walk by, students, teachers, friends, family, some stop and stare. And they whisper, and I know what they are saying, they are saying that we are going through the unimaginable, and that we deserve pity.

And so it is today, Valentine's day that the world pities the Potters and the Weasleys. They say have sympathy, they look and they see heroes who have lost so much in such short breathes. They say don't stare. They say have pity, have mercy on our lords. They say give them time. They say it is a tragedy. They say that they will grieve for us. And so the nation grieves for us, and we grieve for her.

I have never been pitied before. It is a new look in their eyes, a new wonder. As if they want to help. I have never been stared at like this, like they want to reach out and take my hand.

My face is wet, and Rose still trembles. My hands are numb, my muscles taught. And she still trembles.

It begins to rain, the water pours down around us, it clings to her skin. And my arms are wrapped around her, hands buried in her hair, our bodies close, skin on skin, hands on hands, nails digging into flesh. It is desperate, it is hopeless, we need each other to stand. Each droplet clutches to her flesh, and the storm drowns a whirl wind of hell.

Her eyes are closed, eyelashes long, and tears slip, caught in the rain and the storm, and she whispers, sometimes the words are incoherent, but at other times I can hear it. Blame. Hatred. Pain.

She is small, she is young, she is broken. She has seen death, but not death like this, not death that blinds you, that kills you.

Oh Dom, what have you done?

My eyes are closed, tight, and in them she dances like a phantom, blonde hair whispering in the wind, her laughter like bells, she has flowers in her hair, braided, and loose. She is rising from the lake, her smile makes her eyes crinkle, and I can see a dimple, on her left cheek. She is smiling at you James. She will never smile at you again James. Never again.

She is waltzing towards you, eyes not looking at you, but at Frank, smiling, she loved him, but I told her that she cannot date, not him, because he is my friend, my idiotic unworthy friend. I destroyed her life. You bastard James. Do you see now? You will never see her look at him like that again. She will never look at you again.

Her hand is in mine, and she is dragging me to see something, but I cannot see what, and her hand slips, and I let go, because she is the stupid cousin, and I go back to the party, it was a birthday party, I left her behind. You fool. I wonder where she could have taken me, but I never care. Don't care. Not now. This is not the time to care James.

And it is not enough. The pain cannot be drowned, not by alcohol, not by tears, not by anger, not jewels. It is not enough, never enough for me to be who I am. She just wanted to live. Don't we all? Death is an empty feeling. When I killed for the second time, I did not cry. I regretted, and I had nightmares for months, and sometimes, when my guard is down, those phantoms also follow me. But it gets easier. You learn to ignore. You learn to be strong through a façade. You will learn Rose. I will teach you.

The water, each droplet is cold, like ice, and the heavens weep for her, lightning lighting up their stormy anger, and there is a rage, in my veins, it burns like liquor. Vengeance. They will pay. Yes. That's right they have to. They have to.

There are days my life is normal. I walk in school, pretending to be younger than I am, pretending to not care. Pretending until it is not pretend. But then, there are days like this, days that re marked in History. That they will read about, and say, what did James Potter do when he saw Dom lying there, heart torn from her chest? Is it a, b or c? Circle the right answer.

What did I do? I sigh, it hurts. My heart hurts, I wish it didn't, I don't like this kind of pain, the kind of pain you can't control, the kind of pain that destroys you.

I want to be brave, but here, as the shop keepers turn off the lights, going off to go to bed, as the students walk with heads bowed, and whispers said, back up to the castle, teachers streaming behind them, happiness is foreign. And the stares leave. Hours pass. The rain is heavy, then light. And we hold each other, we need to, we have to.

Roses' hands form fists in my shirt, gripping the cloth with a fierce need. Her fingernails clawing at my flesh, she is angry, at herself, at the world. I am too. We both are.

She finds her voice, like music to my ears, but it is a hollow sad sound, it hurts her too .It hurts us both. I lean into her, and she asks, she calls, she is all I have left. And so I hold her close, I wish I could pull her inside of me, into my heart, so she could never leave. But I can't. Her voice is soft; it holds an eerie grief, choked,

"James?"

A question. My name. And I reply, my hands going around her waist, pulling her closer, though there is no space left, she is warm, her skin is on fire, her breathe is hot, she is alive James. And I cannot help but think that that is all that is important. Right?

My voice matches hers, kind, soft, listening,

"Yes?"

And then I see it. This is not the end. This the beginning of our story, the true beginning of our lives, of our wars, and the horrors we will see hand in hand, and if it took a death for us to become like this, to meet, to care, to love, then was it worth it? It scares me that the answer might be yes.

Her hands are on my back, tracing my should blades, her touch is soft, her touch is loving, but her voice is brutal, like a whip it hits, and cracks, and I see a rage, kindled, burning,

"They must pay… They will pay James, for all they have done,"

I pull away. And we stand. Parallel. Rage full eyes on madness, it shines through both of us. And she extends her hand. An offering. The beginning of an alliance, a treaty, a contract. And her voice is new, she is new, and she will be strong for me, as I will be strong her for her,

"James Sirius Potter, let's make them burn in hell,"

Her hand shakes, her body quivers, the street, flooded with rain looks like a river of blood. And there is a corpse somewhere, being held in the arms of Fleur Weasley, and it is their fault. They crossed a line. The forgotten have forgotten something very important. That there is one family you do not mess with. But they did. And this was not a warning, this was a battle, and we lost. This was just the start.

I take her hand, and our veins, our lives connect. No going back. Yes Rose, they will pay, we will make them burn until they beg on fallen knees for our pity, for our mercy. They will not survive us. Not us.

Fingers clasp around fingers, palms on palms, skin on skin. The thunder roars in our ears, as the heavens fall, and faith is burned to a crisp. They wanted a reaction; they are prodding, seeing how strong we are. Well, they are in for a brutal surprise. Fools.

And my voice is full of a malice, and it goes boom,

"There is no going back; they will pay for what they have done,"

She nods, eyes wide, heart tortured,

"Yes James, we will make them pay…"


	22. Tears dried in the wind

Chapter 22: Tears dried in the wind

~Rose POV~

"Dear Dom, I'd like to say we have moved on, but I would be a liar. And I hate liars. I have recently come to the realization that I have been one, a liar my whole life. I have lied about being an orphan; I have been a coward, scared of judgement. And here I am, in a situation where I could be blamed for murder. Your murder. Please understand Dom, that I did not murder you. I am scared; my hands won't stop shaking at night. My eyes won't close to sleep, food tastes rotten between my lips, and I am no longer hungry so I often do not eat for days on end. I cannot sleep so I watch the stars, and in them I pretend that I see you. Eyes blue, and your smile, lighting up my world. And then I blink and you are not smiling. You are dead.

I fear death; I have never feared it before. Oh Dom, I miss you like hell. I wish I valued everything you did when you were alive, I wish I never argued, or took you for granted, I wish I was dead in your place. The world has become this vast dark place. The sun does not shine, the clouds do not clear, and in the mirror, slowly I take the form of a skeleton, gaunt, I look more dead then you do.

Today is your funeral, it's been three weeks, we are at Potter Manor, they are going to burry you on the cliff, so you can watch the sea your whole life. Dom, we will watch over you all your life. I wish you could be here to see how many people love you. They have all come, the whole world Dom to bow to a Queen. To a legend never born. I wish I had known how many people loved you, because then maybe I wouldn't have chosen. But I am a fool. There is this broken feeling, I cannot explain it. Perhaps it is the feeling of losing something precious. Something you never valued. Blame and guilt come hand in hand in this nightmare. And I am trembling.

I have no tears left, I have cried and cried and now I am exhau sted, so I crawl, from room to room, hour to hour, minutes pass in a blur, there is no point to living. I am surrounded by people who have taken me in, out of their kindness, out of their heart; they have given me a room, a bed, food and water. They have given me love. And I have betrayed them. I am their enemy, the enemy James and I swore to kill, that one. So do I kill myself? Do I join you? Does that make me a coward? Am I coward?

James speaks of me to his family like a God, like a Star, but I am not. He is blind, and he will hate me when he finds out the truth. I must tell him. I must make you proud Dom, mustn't I? I write to you every day, it gets repetitive doesn't it Dom? I'm sorry. God, if you are out there, if you exist, I need hope. I need a future. I am lost to words. I am lost. I cannot breathe. Oh Dom, I choke on every word, you should see the crowds today, the tears. They morn you my love, I do too, but I cannot accept it, this whirlwind of life.

I watch Dom, I look out at the world between my eyes, and I see. I have always loved watching, there is this fantastic way of them not knowing, and soon you catch up on details. Little things, Ginny and Harry have their coffee in bed every morning, and then come downstairs at 7:45ish and each grab a scone, made by Albus, they give Lily a hug, and Harry always gives James long careful glances, as if making sure he is breathing, and when it is confirmed, they leave in a whirl of smoke, disappearing to thin air as they apparate away.

Other things I notice, it is James that will carry Lily out of bed every morning, and down the stairs, setting her on one of the kitchen counter stools, and taking her breakfast order. He does this every day, without hesitation, starting at 7:30 and ending, well, ending whenever Lily bursts into tears, running back up to her room, hands balled into tiny fists. Albus leaves the house at 12, and visits Scorpius, who never, ever come back with him. And the rest of the day consists of this dreary endless cycle of people, one by one, sometimes in groups, knocking on the front door and bringing gifts, presents, things for you, Dom. It has this sick irony to it, for you did not know them, and yet here they come as if in a parade of black, and they all apologize, and it's funny isn't it, because it's not their fault, its mine. And yet they hand me all types of flowers, and ornaments, and lace. Giving the murderer the gifts for the dead.

I wish everything could stop. And we could go back and reclaim our innocence. I remember the first time I saw someone die; oh Dom it broke my world apart. I forgot how to live then too. And it is painful, forgetting, isn't it? But I don't want to forget you I want to remember you, for you, oh Dom you are, no wait, you were- you were"

The quill stops, and it trembles there, centimetres above the parchment, and I stare at it, the writing, scribbled in a long, tangled cursive, with no beginning and no end. Each word reflects a broken emotion, each curve effects a landline. I look down at my hands, my fingernails bite into soft skin.

Boom.

The tear drop, just salty liquid hits the ground, and I watch the ink smear, hot, and the parchment grow damp.

The quill slips, spinning from my hand, and hitting the ground with a boom. I watch the ink fall across the pages, smearing it black, staining my delicate fingers, clinging to my skin. It matches the black lace that traps my body. Each droplet sinks into the parchment, thick like blood. And I blink, lashes slipping over cheeks, and I can see it, droplets of crimson clinging to cobblestones. The blood, her blood took hours to scrub off. James held me as I scratched at it, the blood stains, I was still crying then. I am still crying now.

The grass is muddy beneath my feet, the wind is cold, but I do not notice it. In my head I chant it, over and over, and over, breathe Rose, be strong Rose, you cannot let James know. Not yet. You have to not let them know. First you have to figure it out, hear me Rose, you have to understand. The world is scary when you are alone. Dom, it is very scary, I feel so lonely, V does not let my hand go, and James, oh god, I wouldn't be alive without him. Oh merlin I would be dead, I would be beyond dead, they'd all be dead. I would kill them all. I feel a tear fall onto my hand; it is warm in the cold. It is a reminder of things like emotion, like pain, like hope.

You were the spark Dom, you set off a chain reaction, you made the wheel turn. And now everything is whirling by, and some are on top, and some are on the bottom, but it will whirl on. It will never stop, it will keep going, on and on, but I promise. Dom, when I am on top, I will make them open their eyes, and I will get to the top, I will step on whoever's head is in the way, and crush whoever stops me, I will create a legacy, and I will raise your name to the heavens, history will remember you Dom. For I will write you down in it. I will write you a world, dreams.

And when the tears end, I will grow stronger, oh Dom, I am so weak, so tired. I cannot take a step without being exhausted. Why am I so thin? I have never prayed before Dom, but I am on my knees, day after day, night after night murmuring to gods that do not care. How will I ever know now, that one day people will be on their knees begging me, their god to have pity. Pity? Mercy? I am merciful, right? I am just, I do not have vengeance, I understand, I fight for both sides. Right? But I cannot fight for both sides. For I am an orphan Dom. And the gods that do not exist have cursed me. And I am broken. On the ground. Pleading, and I look so desperate don't I Dom, from those heavens? Mustn't I look so weak? I am sorry. I will learn to be strong. To bear the unimaginable. I am a watcher Dom, and I can tell you they are so broken. They are so broken, they are so very broken. I am too. But not forever, because nothing lasts that long. You didn't last that long.

The casket is cold, the corpse is smiling, the eyes are closed, the dress is white, she looks like she is sleeping, she is so very pale. Why are you so pale Dom? We were supposed to fall in love together, get married together, raise our children side by side. Where are you? Did you have to leave so soon? I miss you Dom, I cannot learn to breathe. Because there is no air, you were air, friends are air. You knew it all, who I am, and you loved me. No one has ever loved me like that before. It is quiet; I have never liked the silence this much. In the quiet I can hear your laughter in the wind; I can hear it in the rustling of the grass. I can hear it Dom, you would laugh at me, wouldn't you? But I swear, you are just out of reach, just out of reach. My fingers graze your shoulder, but you run away. Why are you running? Why can't I keep up? Why are my steps so heavy, why is my breath so short? I don't understand.

Her hair is as white as snow; she has a pearl hanging around her neck, resting beneath her collarbones. She has lost weight. Like me. She looks so young. She smells just like Dom does, but that doesn't make sense, because Dom cannot be dead. We were supposed to grow up together, to graduate together, to move into an apartment together, and start at the bottom, and climb to the top, hand in hand, using the stairs. I am afraid I cannot use the stairs anymore. I am afraid I will have to climb the hard way. I am afraid I might have to do it alone. I don't want to be alone. Oh Dom, god no.

A hand finds mine, the skin is warm, soft, delicate, and I turn my head, and watch her. Fleur. She looks just like Dom, she smiles at me, it does not reach her eyes. Her voice is soft; it reminds me of a wilted flower,

"She was my angel, my darling girl, what am I supposed to do now?"

She shakes her head and a strangled sob echoes from her lips. And her body rocks back and forth, eyes blood shot. And she shakes her head. And her eyes tell a story of pain, from long ago,

"I regret it, marrying into them, the Potters, the Weasleys, I love them, but they are leeches, and everyone wants their blood, their flesh, they won't leave us alone, and we are not invincible, we are broken, and my girl, my poor girl she will never smile at me again"

The sobs make no sound, her mouth hangs open, she mouths words but no sound comes. Her grip is firm; she squeezes at my hand,

"I cannot imagine, no, I cannot, I cannot. She needs to breath, why isn't she breathing?"

Her eyes close and her head hangs low, she breathes deep, and the sniffles are soft, a soft broken sound. Her hands tremble.

"Bill almost died, he risks so much for us, he is never home anymore, he does not come home anymore, how will I live? How can I breathe?"

I cannot speak. She is a mother. The greatest loss in the world is a mother who has lost her daughter. Her tears are hot, they burn my skin,

"She didn't get to graduate, I was so looking forward to her graduation, I was so proud, why did I never tell her? Oh my poor girl, my poor girl,"

She shakes her head back and forth, teeth grinding, eyes closed, squeezed shut as if to block out the world. Her fingernails tare into me. And her voice trembles,

"It is all their fault, is all our fault…. Why are we so driven for power, god I hate him, I hate him,"

She opens her eyes and lets out a strangled laugh,

"The D.A. The Potters, can you see it on the horizon? Chaos is coming, we have already fought a war, we lost so much, we still have nightmares, we were your age, Dom, we were your age when we watched them die, we will never be the same, we still say up at night, the phantoms still hunt us, how are we supposed to watch our children die? How can we face a world like that again?"

She falls to her knees. Hand slipping from mine. Her body hits the ground with a boom. Her eyes are wide, whites prominent, hands clawing at her hair, and she lets out a tortured scream, fists forming,

"Can you see it Harry? Your empire is falling and it started with my daughter, you coward, fix this, bring her back to life, bring her back to me, I cannot live without her Harry, I cannot, I will not, no matter how many of them you kill it will never be justice for this, there is no justice that can match this,"

I can feel my lips part. And the tears fall like silver, liquid and boiling down my cheeks. And I turn to look at the corpse. The casket is beautiful. The beauty disgusts me. And I hear her, her voice, it is in my head. And as my eyes slip closed I see her. Dom. She stands in the corner of the room. She is a shadow, but her eyes are alive. And she smiles soft, but there is a sadness,

"Oh Rose, be strong for me, my mom is so sad, tell her I never wanted to see her be this sad… I don't want vengeance, I don't want pain, killing others will not save the day, you know that, those are your words, James' words, violence is not the answer, think with your head, not your heart…. James thinks with his heart, but you with your head. Remember me, but move on too, my game is over, don't let it ruin yours,"

I blink and she disappears, burning into ashes in the spring wind.

And with my eyes open I see Harry and Ginny trying to calm down Fleur, she is raging, screaming at him. But he is not to blame Fleur. I am. Oh Fleur, you are blaming the wrong person. Don't. Blame me. But no words come from my lips.

I am beginning to understand. I was supposed to die. My heart was damaged, claws sinking into flesh. Like Dom. But I lived. Without a scratch. A rule of death. A rule of death is that no death can go undone. Someone must die in your replacement. Someone had to die for me living. Dom is in the casket. You can fill in the blanks. A death for a life. I am breathing because Dom is not. And I am sickened. Nauseated. They ask how the forgotten got to her. Through my head. The song in the alleyway was not a song, it was a spell. It was a curse. I refused to die so someone must be chosen for my place.

And I can still see it. The nightmare that had happened every night for the week, the seven days before Dom died. The voices. The cliff. The wind fresh in our hair. It had all felt so weirdly real. On the cliff Dom and V had stood, holding hands. And there was a wand in my hand, and it was my voice, telling me, screaming at me. I can close my eyes and see. The sun was setting reds and blacks. And it looked like hells fire blooming from those cursed heavens.

I remember the spell .The flash of green. The body on the ground. I remember crawling, in the mud, towards the body, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. I remember regret, pain, guilt, and a fear. What monster is this? Where is the righteous, beautiful Rose everyone knows? Please come back, I miss you; I whisper that to the mirror. But there is never an answer. That scares me.

I can hear the words slipping between chapped lips,

"Avada Kedavra,"

And she died, it was a nightmare. Just a dream. A warped version of reality in my mind, but it was real. It was a magic I do not understand. It was their warning. The forgotten were telling me of the future. V and Dom. Who did I choose? Her eyes are closed in the casket. Her hands are limp. Her pulse is stopped. V is everything. She is closer than family, she is me, my better and my worse half. She cannot die. I cannot live without her. But I can live without Dom. I can live without you. I promise I will learn to. So I am sorry Dom, I am beyond sorry. I can feel my heart pounding, but it should be your heart pounding, why is mine? Why am I alive, when you are not?

Death and life like love and hate is a thin line. And with a breath, we slip to the other. And with a tear we are gone. I will write her story in letters and paragraphs and words. And you all will read it. And you will spread the word, that Dom was a legend. She was the first to go. In war, their always is the first death, the hardest death, and slowly over time you get more used to it. Death. The idea of it.

I open my eyes and give her a long look. And then I lean closer, lips soft on her cheek, and my breathe is hot, and I whisper, like an angel,

"Goodbye my sister, I will remember you till the day I die. Every day we lived hand in hand will be treasured like gold, I will live for you, I will live a life that you would have wanted, and when we are old, we will look back at these years, the years with you as the best."

My breath catches and a soft tear falls, and a sob slips from my lips, from my heart, I am letting go.

I give her hand a squeeze, and let out a long breath, and laugh softly, my voice soft,

"Oh Dom you would love this, they are all here, the whole world is here, loving you, it is what you deserve,"

My words choke and I shake my head, hands forming fists,

"No, no it is not what you deserve, I should be dead instead, damn it, I should be, I…"

I let out a sigh, and smile softly, eyes shining like glass,

"I am afraid of a life without you, but I will learn to live without you, if that is what you wanted,"

My hand slips from hers. They are cold. It is all too cold. And they come, and they take her away, and I whisper, my breath on the air, running towards her, chasing after her,

"I love you, always and forever…"

The chairs are in rows. They are white, covered in black satin, it does not rain. It is oddly sunny. The sun is eerie though, as if it is fate laughing, grinning at us puny humans, how we weep over the dead. Over a young girl.

James stands before all of us. And slowly the sun begins to set, violets, pinks, rosy, and dark crimson reds, yellows and golds, silvers and creams. The sun is like a ball of fire, and the clouds are flames, batting at the blue masterpiece of the sky. Breaking an image of perfection. It is a sea of black, a sea of regret. And there, just over the tempting edge of the cliff is the sea, a real sea, unlike us, it rages below, hitting jagged rocks, white with froth, and the broken image of the world, of the heavens a flame above it is reflected, it is a mirror of all things. The sea is vast. The horizon is a goal. But we will never reach it.

And then he stands. He is a great man. He is better than me. And if he stays alive, it would be enough. It is enough. For me. His eyes are golden like the mist that rises from the angered waves, his eyes are clear. They are not red. He only cried that day. And since then, for these three weeks, he has been everywhere, like a disease, a plague, or maybe, a vaccine, curing grief for everyone. He is strong when we are all broken. He does not falter. He stands by my side, and when I cannot eat he opens my lips, soft, and he will help me chew, and swallow. And when I cannot sleep, he will send music from downstairs, piano songs that sound like the death of swans. When tears are shed, he is the tissue that dries them, when rage confounds, and we lose our breath, he takes our hands, and his eyes, golden, are steady. And he does not blink, he holds us up. And he tells us to breathe. I am scared that he is suffering worse than all of us. He consumes our grief, with a hunger, but sometimes, when everyone leaves the room, and my eyes are still watching, I see a falter, a pain, an anger. And I want to go to him, to hold him. To say James, I am here; I can try to be here. But I am not strong enough so I simply watch, clinging to the darkness. To the line, narrow, between life and death.

He stands before us. The sun reflected in his eyes, wind rustling through his clothes, his hands do not shake, and he takes a breathe,

"Dominique Weasley was a gift from the gods. She was a dreamer, in the age of dreamers. She was young. No, she is young. Too young…."

He lets out the breath. And lowers his eyes, eyes closing, eyelashes dark, and I can see soft shadows beneath his eyes. Are you okay James? Be okay James. Please? His voice shakes, just so slightly, and he goes on,

"When we were children, I promised to protect her through anything, to save her every time life got too hard, but I am not invincible. I am mortal. And she was too, it is scary, the realization that something so precious can slip through your fingers in a blink, in a breath. I want to say that I was chosen to speak because I am strong. But I think I was chosen to speak, because I was her guardian, and I failed,"

The tears turn cold as they fall, the wind making them trace my cheeks quickly. And I cannot blink, I stare at him, this great man, how blessed I am to have his eyes in my life, to be by my side. But he is not here; he is up there, in front of them all. And I am proud.

He takes a deep breathe, and smiles softly, clearing his throat,

"She humbled me, she did not let little things get to her head, she smiled at least 100 times a day, and if she didn't, we would all rush to her, and hold her hand, and tell her jokes until she did. She was funny, when she laughed a dimple would form, she was beautiful. She was beautiful because she was kind, she was good, yes, she was better than the rest…"

My hands shake, and I feel a hand on mine, and I can already see Scorpius, eyes looking at me, seeing how broken I am. But he does not know. I have not told a soul about the dreams. The choice. The green light. The body. The lack of pulse. I am quiet. I am silent in my pain. His voice stays steady, and he lets out a quiet laugh,

"You should have seen her, the ridiculous things she would do, every word that left her lips was incredible, she didn't make mistakes, she lived like we all should, brave, facing the world head on. I want to be brave like she is. We should all want to be brave like she was."

He nods, licking his lips, eyes darting closed for a millisecond. And then they open again, and he lets out a strangled sigh. Chest rising and falling, over and over. And he smiles softly, like the falling of snow,

"We have to be strong now. We have to live for her. She would want us to live. Do you hear me?"

His voice rises; it is a masterpiece, not the sky, but him, his words, the way our hearts beat with them, and it booms with my pulse, as he continues,

"She told me to live every moment like my last. Those were her last words. Not just for me. But us, all of us, here, and all of us out there, we have this gift, we have this life, and we only get one, and we waste it, sitting and doing nothing, wasting away time that is precious. We each have a timer on this life; and we don't know when ours will go off. We have to be strong so that she can see it, us living for her. She did not get the opportunity to fall in love, to graduate, to have her first child, to get married, to dream, to see those dreams come true…"

His hands are slack, not fists, and it is strange, he is not angry, he is lost. Find him Rose. He lowers his eyes and they spark alive, those flames, deep in the gold and he continues,

"She had a dream, she dreamed to grow old, by our sides, hand in hand, to make our children proud, to make her parents proud, her friends proud. Did she make us proud? Huh?"

And slowly we nod, one by one, and then all together, and he nods with us, voice raising to the heavens,

"YES. You made us proud Dom. And we will remember you. Your smile, your heart, your wisdom, your bravery, the scars on your fingers from garden Nombs. We will remember the days by the lake, your hair braided with flowers, we will remember the sound of your laughter, the shine of your eyes when you were about to cry. We will remember the feeling of your touch, the sound of your sobs. We will live through those memories, good and bad. And we will live for you…."

The tears have changed their sent, from bitter to sweet. To loved, to a sadness. And he lets out a shaky breathe, eyes closing softly and now his voice trembles like a leaf, and there is a pain too terrible to name, his voice is strong, just a whisper, so we strain to hear, as he goes on,

"We will miss you. Every waking moment we will miss you, and we will love you till the end, till our own timer comes and we join you in whatever world, hell, heaven, dream, stars, or new life. So hang on for us, for we will come and join you in time…"

He nods, eyes downcast, and when he looks up, he looks at me, and he smiles so very slightly, and I smile back, it is not a smile of happiness, no, it is reassurance, it is support, it is pride, it is a love. And he says the last words, voice humming alive like an orchestra, a symphony, and we are all here to listen James, we are looking forward to what you have to say, and so he speaks, honest, eyes never leaving mine,

"Someone great once said that nothing is the end of the world, it is just the beginning of a new one. It was Dom's last wish for this new world without her to be a good one. And that is up to us. She believed in us, she believed that we could survive without her, and we must learn to. We must not let her down. We must make her proud, we will make you proud. And every good act we do, it will be in your name Dom. And you will last forever through our words, through today…. You are the beginning, and we will miss you, the sacrifice, the pain. We will love you. And we will never forget you…."

And then he gestures with his hands for us to rise, so we do, and we walk to the edge, the edge of the cliff, and there, below us she is. On a beautiful mahogany boat, lying on a bed of flowers, hair fanned out, lips upturned, eyes closed. As if resting. The flowers match the colours of the setting sun, light blues, of daffodils, roses of every variety, and there, dancing on the flowers are fairies, they do not laugh, but their wings, they flutter and they fly up, around her, forming a sail, they glow like stars, and they have tears, on small cheeks, each tear falls like dew on heavy flower petals, like rain, the first rain of spring. The frost is over.

The sun dips out of view, its last long lights casting shadows, and stars begin to come awake to view the spectacle before us. The rocks are jagged, and she is far down, the white froth of the surf hits against it, but the fairies keep it steady.

And I watch James take out his wand, it is beautiful, his wand, it is dark, almost black, and carved with flames, as if it is alive, and so he murmurs the spell in his thoughts, causing the boat, to slip into the sea, in the calm vastness of blues and greens it stands out like a miracle. That's what she was after all. A miracle. And so she belongs in the world, not in dirt, not in solitude. She deserves to live on. She sails into the setting sun, her white hair bathed in the light of a thousand stars, and the fairies begin to dance on the water around her, feet slipping over water, dashing and spinning, loving their loved ones, and they dance in sink, rising and twirling in the air, wings catching the light and causing intricate patterns to be cast onto the water.

Their clothes change colour with the setting sun, and their laughter is soft, and slowly, they begin to braid her hair, white, liquid silver, the strands soft between tiny fingers, weaving flowers of every variety, and spraying incense, she looks like a queen, her crown of nature dusting her brow with golden pollen. They stain her lips with the juice of the red ruby rose, and it is red. Crimson like blood and it is cold, and warm. And the fairies dance with her, and I can hear their words, soft, a lullaby, as if telling her to sleep, to close her eyes and sleep softly. Her face shows no pain. Thank God. She does not deserve pain.

Slowly we all raise our wands, all of us, dressed in black, with tears shining in our eyes, and we salute. And just a droplet of fire slips from each wand, like a dew drop, flying through the air, and each droplet of fire, circular and perfect, forms a fiery arrow, thin, aimed with intent not to kill but to release, and with a soft whistle, it darts through the air, skimming the waters of the sea, brushing against the rocks, escaping the rough surf, and running for her, chasing after her. My arrow and James' are side by side. I can hear the soft wind caused by the speed, and the fairies, all bend, and bow, sinking to the floor in a thousand curtsies and then they rise, swirling above her, and clasping hands, small fingers on small fingers, and they form a circle above her, swaying back and forth, whispering kind words in elvish tongue. The arrows come closer, and I see her face for just one more second, she is at peace. She feels no pain. She will never come back. You have to let go.

I let out a scream,

"No"

And boom. They hit all at once, and it goes up in flames, and her face disappears, she is gone. SHE IS GONE.

Slowly the boat catches on fire, the flames roaring to life, and I feel the tears slip, down and down. The flowers wilt in the heat, and so does she and I whisper in my mind.

"Goodbye Dom."

The fire rages, reds, golds, silvers, bronze and copper, and the fairies chant throwing flower petals into the angered, soft flames, they burn upwards, like a beckon, they blind the horizon, they are like the sun, and the clouds of every colour shine around the flames that lick at the masterpiece of the sky. It burns for minutes, maybe for days, years, until ash is all that is seen and then James raises his hand, and the ashes rise with his wands movement, swirling in circles, until they are like a storm in the open sea, and they are still on fire, burning, and the boat is empty, the wood unscathed, and the fairies sit, floating down onto the scalding wood, and watch in awe, we all do.

They rise and twirl; the flames are blue, violet, green, sapphire, red, yellow. And then he whispers it, opening his mind to the world, his eyes close, and I see a single tear, clear, transparent trace his cheek, he is not broken, no he is strong, he should not be so strong, not at this moment, not when everything has fallen apart. The ashes pause and then they scatter like the wind, in all directions, running in all directions, and somewhere, each of them will find the destination James chose, somewhere on this golden earth, in this setting sun, with the stars rising in the flames they will find a new home.

In the earth, the water, the sea, the land, in a new fire, someone's lungs, someone's blood stream, food, they will float to a new place, and they will grow, and she will see all. She will travel to every country, and see good and bad, her eyes will not close, she is not dead, she is everywhere, you will live on in the trees, whispering in the wind. You will live on for us. Dom will live forever through them all.

And slowly they leave one by one. Back inside. And I cannot move. I simply watch. Fascinated... Tear stains dried.

Scorpius and I stand side by side. He is beautiful today, he is beautiful every day. He has been here too, in the shadows, hiding against the walls, fingers grazing mine. I love him. You wonder why. He is gentle, he has secrets, he fears judgement, so he hides behind books, and walls. And he is always emotionally strung, but doesn't let anyone know. He was there, too. The first time I saw death walking, the first time the heart stopped beating. He was there then too. But the second time is the charm. And now I have James. And this ghost of a beauty is fading away. And whatever this is, this us, is fading with it.

We don't speak we watch the stars, hands interlaced. His skin is cold, his skin is soft, his touch is distant, his eyes don't find mine. And I feel it. A loss. Another one. Something I can't prevent, though no one is dying. He reaches up, arm slender, fingers long. He used to be my masterpiece, a beauty that I could gaze at all day, but now, something has changed. He is gone. Isn't he? And I miss him. The white haired angel. But maybe I have grown out of the habit of clinging to him. And his voice sounds like the snapping of strings, violin strings, guitar strings. It is not beautiful. He is not beautiful.

"it's not your fault Rose…"

He knows me well. And I feel my heart skip a beat, and my teeth graze my lips. And he goes on, voice taught,

"Remember when the little girl got sick? At the orphanage that first summer in first year, remember the way you wouldn't dare to use magic, you blamed yourself then too. You never recovered from that did you?"

My eyes slip closed, and I lean my head onto his slender shoulder. And he doesn't react, watching the sky, and lets out a heavy breathe,

"You cried for days, you wouldn't tell V what was wrong, because you were scared she would judge you, so I had to tell her, remember how betrayed you were? You hated me for weeks, months, and then everything just went back to normal, like it never happened, I cannot remember the day that happened, but it did, one day, it went back, and you stopped crying, and blaming, and you became happy,"

He smells like mint, and I breathe in the sent, I have missed it, him, all of it. I should have missed it more. He lets out a shaky breathe,

"We are too young, to see such pain, oh Rose, where have I been? When you need me most I am not there, how horrible I must sound like to you,"

I shake my head, eyes opening and he turns to face me, looking into them, and his face cracks, and his voice is unsteady,

"You watched Potter today like he was the world; you used to look at me like that…. And I think you are smart enough to know who to trust, but-I"

He lets go of my hand and turns away, burying his face in his hands, and his shoulders shake, narrow, and he lets out a groan, of frustration and he lets out a deep breathe, his voice is scaring me,

"I feel like I should not be so selfish, who am I to talk? I have left you behind, haven't I? Albus was sick, and I-"

He lets out another breathe, and goes on,

"I have no excuse as to where I have been. Perhaps this is it, everything, the end,"

I wrap my arms around him, slowly, as if not to scare him, and rest my head against his back. Listening to his heart and my voice trembles with his,

"No, oh no Scorpius, this is not the end, not for everything, we will learn again how to be brave, I have been lost too, I have not been there, how is your family, Scorp, how is your mom? I sent her a box of cookies for Valentines; you know, the shortbread ones, with little heart icing,"

He doesn't respond, but lets out a broken sob, and so I go on,

"I did not have time to write a letter, I should have written her a letter, do you think she'll forgive me?"

He slowly turns to face me, taking my hand, and his eyes are scared, I have never seen that blue so fearful,

"My mum is sick again,"

And it hurts. Because a friend would comfort, and hold him. But he is not telling me as a friend, he is telling me as a stranger. Because he thinks I should know. Because I have always known.

So I do what the friend does, and take his other hand in mine, webbing our cold fingers together, each finger is like a string, a chord, and we are making a broken music. A broken sound.

"Oh Scorp, oh no…"

He looks down at our hands, and I feel it, it hurts. Merlin I wish it didn't hurt this much. I love you Scorpius, I love you because therefore I am loving myself, for we have always been one in the same, haven't we? Scorpius?

His voice trembles ever so slightly, like the wind,

"My dad has been doing underhand business, with death eaters and the D.A,"

His gaze shakes, and he looks down, at our fingers, again, as if reassured with the touch. I wish I also was reassured, and he blinks slowly,

"The death eaters found out, or the forgotten did, damn it, someone did, and she won't wake up, it is like she is dead, it is like she is Dominique,"

Scorpius did not know Dom. But she was my friend, and Albus' cousin, and a classmate, so his eyes have known her appearance and his ears have heard my whispers, but he never knew her, not the real her, not the one that he looks at through my eyes. A painted picture of a queen. I let go of his hands and stand on my tip toes, wrapping my arms around him, closing my eyes in a breathless motion, it is intimate, close, but his hands do not wrap around me. He stands there as if frozen, possibly with horror, or maybe, disgust. Or fear. Maybe all three.

And my voice is soft like the wind,

"The forgotten do not poison, they kill. They do not know mercy, they…"

My voice breaks, and my hands tremble, I look down at the soft shake, and he feels it as they tremble against his back. And pulls away slightly, eyes searching mine, and I lower my own, I cannot lie to his face. Scorpius knows me like he knows the reflection in the mirror. He is not a fool; those blue eyes will dig beneath the surface, so I go on, careful,

"But former death eaters, they would want vengeance, no matter if your dad is doing backhanded deals or not, he switched sides, and now is on the D.A, next to the Potters and the Weasleys, and the Lovegoods. They want betrayers to pay, so they go for the weak part in the chain link,"

He searches my face, and I go on, my voice attempting to be steady,

"We will go see her, she would want you to visit her, and hold her hand, and tell her every little thing you do every day, she would want to know about Albus-"

He pulls away, almost abruptly, and I feel something snap, and his eyes are no longer on me, but a figure behind me, and without turning I can recognise the change in posture, in gaze, in eyes, it changes from a friendship, to a deep, fascinated love. And I lower my hands, letting them fall limp at my sides, and give him a searching look, my voice distant to him as I speak,

"I'll get going then, love you Scorp, stay strong, she'll be okay, I promise, we've worked through this before-"

He simply nods, and brushes by me, hands moving in a blur of motion, and wrapping around Albus' neck, in a hug, without hesitation. And over Scorpius' shoulder Albus' green eyes watch me, and in them I can see curiosity, and I lower my gaze, bowing my head and sending him a tentative wave as I turn on my heels and walk away.

And I can feel a doubt, a doubt that Scorpius will never hug me like that again. Perhaps not. But it is okay Rose, move on Rose.

The window is clouded with frost, and in it, in the glow of the hearth I see him. He is sitting alone, in the dark, as the flames dart across his face, casting long shadows in the darkness. His eyes shine like candles in that dark, golden and alive.

His hands are clasped on his lap, and his gaze is tired, his shirt is slightly unbuttoned, wrinkled, and his hair is askew, he must have tugged at it. He looks empty, drained. He runs a hand over his face, and here, in this lighting he looks like she does, a phantom, too good to be true. A voice whispers in the air,

"You are a watcher aren't you Rose,"

I turn my head, and stare at her. Hermione Granger. She is wearing satin, hair high on her head, and her eyes are also not red. They are lost though. She watches through the window her voice soft,

"I was a watcher too, I would look on, and observe and understand, and at some point, someone started watching me, and then more did, and I forgot to watch,"

She lowers her eyes, in the lighting the light brown looks almost green, hazel, and though she does not cry her eyes shine, with a pain, with memories, with the past, and her voice breaks, just so slightly,

"We have not been warry, we have sat too long on top, it is time for a reminder, that we are mortal, that we have weakness, that we can cry. It is scary, isn't it?"

She nods, almost too herself, and lets out a sigh, she reminds me of him, of James, the way her back stays straight, the way the emotions are seen swimming only in her eyes, but nothing else, pain controlled, sadness not destroying, but making her strong. Her voice is a murmur,

"We have forgotten what death tastes like; we have lived for so long without pain…. And yet, nothing lasts forever, and here we are, as if it is on repeat, and we are challenged again, but this time we are old, and we see things like the value in not fighting, and maybe letting this be someone else's battle, not ours…."

She gives me a tentative smile, and extends her hand, eyes kind,

"I don't think we have formally met, you must be Veronica's Rose,"

I stare at her, lost from words. This is Hermione Granger we are talking about. The legend, the one who single handily reformed the ministry after Voldemort's fall. That one. She looks down at her empty hand and lowers her fingers, eyes watching me with a deep understanding, and she turns, walking over to the railing, and her hands run over the cold stone, and she looks up at the stars. And the stars seem to brighten in her beauty, in her stunning self. And she bows her head, as if out of respect to them. Eventually I clear my throat, and nod. Nothing coming out. She lets out a soft laugh, and studies my face for a moment, and then nods to herself, her words soft, a murmur,

"Yes, you must be her, your eyes, they hold that determination that I see in the mirror, V often talks about it, how a like we are…."

My lips part and she searches my eyes and sends me another broken smile, looking past me, through the window at James, and watches him with a sadness. And when she speaks again, a tear slips down her cheek,

"I am scared for him, he is too young to be this okay, this strong, he should be crying, but he does not shed a tear, he needs someone, a shoulder, perhaps a friend, maybe something more,"

I lick my lips, and nod softly, my voice shaking, as I find the will to speak,

"Yes, I wish he would come to me, and tell me how horrible it is, to lose her, but he is so brave, and I am just me, and we are? We are what?"

She gives me another long, studying look. And murmurs under her breathe, so soft I hardly hear,

"Ahhh young love,"

She sees my sharp gaze and ducks her head, as if out of respect. And we are silent for a moment. And then she speaks. And the world stops.

"Rose you have to tell him, some day, don't tell him when it is too late, you will lose him, and not even fate can fix that,"

My hands form fists, and my breath shakes,

"Tell him what?"

She turns, green eyes meeting green eyes. And she raises her chin. Voice steady,

"Being an orphan holds no shame, but there is shame in hiding behind lies,"

I stumble back, and I am reaching for my wand, as if out or reflex, eyes wide, the wood cool between my fingertips, she watches me, and smiles softly,

"Don't worry, I will not tell anyone of your little secret, I have integrity, and respect for the hard life you have lived so far…. I do not see you as any less Rose, I see you as our equal, both mentally and emotionally. Society may not have developed this understanding, but with time, with time they will…"

I back up a few more steps, and she watches me with a deep kindness, her voice like a song,

"When I was young people would call me bad names, mudblood, slut, muggle, and I would be afraid of those words, and they would hurt me, and beat me down, and I was hunted because of my birth, something I cannot control, and I watched my kin die at the hands of murderers who thought they were right, I know more of judgement than you may think Rose, I understand your fear,"

I feel a tear fall, and wipe it away on the back of my hand, eyes warry, and my voice shakes,

"Did V tell you?"

She shakes her head, looking at her hands,

"No, she would never betray you like that, no, one day, she came home and she began to talk about you Rose, as if you were a goddess, every memory and day from school would have your name at the centre, so I wondered who you were,"

She pauses and looks up at the stars, her hands trembling,

"I went to the ministry's records, but your name, was not in it. So I went to school records, and no parents were listed, no relatives. So I searched deeper, until I found a little girl in a rags playing with Scorpius Malfoy in a meadow just over the Thames, on a summer day. You were laughing, flowers braided in your hair, you had bruises on your skin, cuts on your arms, but there were no tear stains."

I lower my wand, eyes wide, heart pounding,

"I thought to myself how proud I am of my little V, to choose such a good friend, such an incredibly humble girl, and I began to watch you, watch you grow, and oh how you have grown Rose, into such a beautiful and strong woman…"

I stumble forward, lower lip trembling, and she extends her hand, tracing my face softly, her words like a lullaby,

"When James came home with you in his arms, it was like the last puzzle piece, but fate is never fair… And love is hard Rose, it is hard to bear loving something, someone that much,"

I lean into her touch, she is warm, her hands are like my mothers, if I close my eyes she could be my mother, my friend, a support system. And I feel the guilt bubbling over, how can I tell this beautiful woman what I have done? How I chose? How I stopped James from saving her?

I can't.

She looks away, back up to the stars, and her voice shakes so very slightly,

"I watched you hold that girls hand as her life slipped, I watched you cry for her, and the more I watched, the more I came to know…. It is so very scary isn't it? Death…. Pain…. Loss…"

My eyes dip shut, there are no tears left. She watches me for a breathless moment, and then she nods, her hand leaving me, and her words are hollow,

"I have watched only in heartbeats, but I have not seen all, often I felt as if I should have introduced myself earlier, but, I never knew, not then, that you would be here, at the heart of our children's lives, you are V's sister, she has always wanted a sister like you, Albus sees you as a kindred heart, you and the girls are like blood relatives, Scorpius leans on you, and James…"

She looks down from the stars and back to the window, and I follow her eyes, my eyes opening softly, and there I watch Hugo and Lily run to him, collapsing against him, tears and snot falling everywhere, hands balled, and I can hear the soft echo of their sobs. And he holds them, I see his lips move, and he supports them, he says kind things, things they need to hear. And she lets out a breathless laugh,

"James, he is a complicated man. I think I feel responsible for it, in part. But Harry more so, oh god, poor Harry…"

She looks down at her hands, her voice soft, she does not require a response, just for me to open my ears and listen well, so I do,

"James got his wand when he was very young, he begged for one, so we bought it. At first, he wanted us to teach him spells, but then, he asked us to stop teaching him. He wanted to learn himself. At the end of each day, he would crawl out of the ministry's library, and into Harry's study, and he would show us all he had learned, and god did he learn fast…"

She lets out a strangled laugh, choked. And she lowers her eyes, hands trembling,

"Before we knew it, he could do unforgivables, non-verbal spells, curses that take years of practice…. And he craved for more, and when he got bored of learning, he would practice them. And there was only one spell he refused to do. The Patronus spell….."

She nods her head softly, eyes searching mine briefly, and she ducks her head,

"When he was two years old, Harry always spoke of Remus, and how he was like a father. And how without him, he would not be alive today. It was Remus who taught him how to defend himself against the Dementors, using that charm. And James listened, and he wanted that, so he begged Harry to teach him it, the Patronus charm, but Harry always thought he was too young. And now here he is, learning it from Teddy, in class…."

She lets out a sigh, and a soft whisper,

"Sometimes it gets to be too late, and the time has passed and there is no going back…. What a pity…"

We are quiet for a moment, and then she takes out a necklace, a tiny bottle attached to it, and within it, flutters a small piece of ash. Dom's ashes. Just a fraction of a fraction. And slowly she takes my hand in hers, and opens my fingers, placing it into my palm and closing my fingers around it. And her voice does shake, just so very slightly,

"I cannot tell what is worse. Watching her die or watching your children suffer what you suffered so long ago…. The pain…."

My eyes dip shut, and I give the necklace a slight squeeze, and she says her last words, her voice hugging me close,

"You are no longer alone Rose, we will hold you close, and treasure you, as you treasured Dom…."

And slowly her hand slips from mine and she leaves. After a long time I open my eyes and look back, through that window.

And there, sleeping in James' arms is Hugo and Lily, one under each arm, small compared to him, and he sleeps with them, as the little children cry themselves to sleep, clinging to him, hands buried in his clothing, eyes squeezed shut in pain. And my hand brushes against the glass, and I let out a sigh.

Tomorrow, and maybe the day after, I'll become stronger. I know I can.

I walk up, up the grand stair case, and to my room. The door knob sending Goosebumps up my arm. My feet hurt from the heels, so they are discarded. James had the dress made, silk and lace fitting and elegant, but the colour black made my eyes dead, and today was too long, I am exhausted of the colour black. I am exhausted of wearing it, and seeing it and hearing it. The colour black has the sound of the wind, and her laughter, it tastes like salt, like tears. It burns, it is endless.

I throw the window open, wind busting in, raging against the drapes, that flap in the air, crimson in the night. I close my eyes and let out a long scream. And with it I let go of the pain, the pain of each breath. My hands are fists, and I look down at them, on my wrist my vein moves in a steady beat. Proclaiming to the world, that I am in fact alive. I tilt my head back, and gaze out at the stars.

And then, my breath is taken away, there is my star, my constellation, the one James created, it hides in the shadow of the moon, for only his eyes and mine to see. And then my eyes slip closed, and I see him. His skin is transparent, memories floating in his blood stream. He is forgotten. Like she was. And something tells me this is not imagination. This is reality.

The hill is dark, the darkness seems familiar, I have met it before. The darkness. I have met it but not this close. He is sickly looking, skin like glass and his eyes trap me in dread. He turns to face me. Eyes hollow pits of hell. And lets out a soft whistle that I listen to, I listen to the way each note hangs in the air, suspended. And it sends a shiver down my back. And my voice trembles, with rage, the forgotten, I have defended against everyone, told everyone that they are human, that they are not all bad, defended because I considered myself their kin.

The air sucks in between my teeth, roaring like the wind,

"You killed her, you monster, I defended you to her, I defended you as my equal but now she is dead, how am I supposed to forgive you? How can I forgive myself?"

He shakes his head, grinning; his lips are red, dark, drenched in blood as if he kissed death on his way into my head, and again the eerie sound of the whistle, a high note hanging in the air like a gauntlet. I swallow hard, the tears are cold this time, they have never been cold before. I hate myself, for choosing, I hate myself for defending. I am so confused, everything seems so twisted, so quickly, I want to be loved, the Potters can love me, but I must tell them, and how can they love scum?

I go on,

"I cannot forgive you, in fact I want you dead, I crave for your death, I pray for it. I have never prayed before,"

He parts those sickly lips, and again the deathly sound resounds through the air, it fills my head, it is so high that it hurts, it makes my ears ring.

And then he speaks,

"Then kill me Rose…. Blame me Rose for it is better than blaming yourself isn't it? An excuse, a delusion,"'

I feel my hands fall. And somewhere, in Potter Manor I am fighting him, his control on my thoughts, but in this world, that he has dragged my mind to he walks forward, each step an earthquake, and the sickly sweet sound murmurs from closed lips on repeat, plucking the air like a bow. And he relishes in my pain, in my wide eyes,

"You can't kill me because it wasn't my fault. You chose her Rose, you chose Dom to die, so your wish is our command,"

My hands tremble, somehow I don't think they ever stopped trembling, and I let out a sob, face distorted, and I back away, eyes wide,

"I didn't mean to, I had no other option, I didn't mean to, please, bring her back,"

He lets out a hollow laugh, but his lips are sealed shut. And he grins,

"How do you know she died? What is real and what is fake? What do you chose to believe and what do you chose to ignore?"

I blink and Dom is in front of me, she reaches for me, her hand is warm, real, solid, but her eyes, they are empty, they are broken. And I let out a gasp taring my fingers from hers, falling to the ground, and somewhere, far away my body falls with me, onto the golden carpet, painted with lions, next to the bed.

His footsteps make no sound, but the earth shakes as a reaction to each one. And he stoops, till he is so close, so very close to me, and his eyes hold a pity, and his voice holds a familiarity,

"We regret Dom's death, for it is V who has more significance in the future, but it was your choice, and you chose her all seven times, every time we asked you, you never faltered, you chose who your heart loves less,"

The tears have stopped and I can see the street, Dom lying there, and I feel it, a hollow pain. And my words are harsh, so very harsh,

"I will find you, I will hunt you and I will have mercy, and you will beg for your life and I will grant it to you, but either way you will learn, you will learn pain like this, because every monster has a heart, and I will find yours and I will crush it before your eyes…"

Slowly I stand, and the tear stains dry in the wind, and I raise my chin,

"I will train every day, I will rise above, I will find you in the darkest corners, in either world, and I will drag you on your knees to your judgement day, so wait for me, because my days of defending you are over,"

He grins, teeth black, made of ash and smoke, and flesh, and his words hit me like knives,

"The forgotten do not make empty threats about the future, we speak the truth, and we carry out our actions with precision, little girl, you are a child, you are hurt, your eyes are red, you have cried for weeks, we have watched you morn, and we have seen,"

My eyes are wide, my voice shaking,

"Seen what?"

He tilts his head back, hands reaching for me, claws dripping of blood, and the whistle echoes in my head,

"We have seen how they love you, an ordinary girl with a temper, so we will destroy you and we will watch the Potters watch you die, slowly, first, we will kill all that you love, and strip you of your heart, then we will destroy your dreams, and eat out your brain, then we will beat you in every battle, and fight until your muscle is gone and then, we will take your body and rip it into tiny pieces, and present it to them, the Potters as an offering, and then we will watch the emotions rage, like fire, and we will be fed off of them, this I swear to"

I am backing away, my body is standing, fighting, I am starting to disappear, and his words follow me, hunting me,

"Have you ever seen a hero become a villain? It's very entertaining Rose, such a pity you'll be dead before that…"

~James' POV~

I duck. Boom. The fist whistles by me, I grin, roll, the feet slip past, air brushing over skin, turn, the knuckles skip past my face, and I let out a low growl. Like an animal. But why not? These weeks have been hard. I won't lie. They have sent a shiver, but that shiver has turned to rage, white and hot and primal.

Bam. The spell flies past me, and I watch the wall collapse, his wand held in tightened fingers, a fist, he is angry too, we both are. But why not, anger is fuel, anger is energy, anger is purpose. It's a disease, and I am addicted to it. Being sad sucks, tears, the pain of loss is uninteresting, but the vengeance, which comes with it is the only motivation to breathe, so I am breathing, and I am killing.

Sectumsempra

The cuts are beautiful, slash, skin tares like paper, thin, simple and easy, blood gushes to the floor, I watch it drip and I can see cobble stones, and the same crimson, like a phoenix's fire. I like fire. It burns things down. His eyes beg for mercy. Fine. A swish, the wand makes the air stir with energy, magic, coursing in veins, coursing in eyes, flesh on flesh, we pace, blood warm on my feet, soaking into my shoes, into my socks, into my soul.

They heal slowly, a spell I invented. Sectumsempra is a family spell, hereditary, thanks Snape, it's a good one, a good way to drain them of blood, of energy. A pity I wasn't named after you Severus, we are more alike than you and Albus are. Aren't we?

The blood swishes against my toes, sinking into the soul of my shoe, sinking into me. Why not? It's a void kind of space, fighting fills it, pain, blood, rage. It's the space where she used to be. But she isn't there anymore. So it's over. And the pain has left me, now it's on him, now he is the one bleeding.

I twirl the piece of wood between my index finger and thumb, five,

He runs at me, I deflect each cruse, they fly like a rainbow, colours of rage in the air. Sadness has a colour, violet, anger has a colour, white, death has a colour, yellow. Black. Black is the colour of truth, and I can't find it, lies are choking me, and so is my pride.

Four,

He grunts, sweat beading on his brow, and on mine, he is closer now, we stalk each other, foot behind foot, turning in a circle, hands prepared for any attack, for any way in.

Three,

He raises his wand, eyes wide, prepared, but so am I, and we already know who is winning. A flick, and the bricks from the fallen wall rise around him, and he aims them, eyes gleaming, gleaming with victory never won, with pain never let go, with loss he will never understand. He is our ally, he is our friend, he is my brethren, but winning matters more. We bow our heads. It's curtesy. In duels curtesy comes first. Always.

Two,

His fist motions the bricks forward, and I wait for them, dropping the wand in a flash, and I duck, spinning on the ground, down three centimetres, to the right, lean back, jump, kick on four, three seconds till they hit, on your knees, trip him, there, I stand back up, cracking my knuckles, and with one hand I catch the last brick.

One.

I am magic. When did I realise that the magic was not in the piece of wood but in my veins, burning me down, and beating like a pulse through my bloodstream. I am the magic. I am the power. I simply must believe. It is hard to control rage, it is white, it is burning, it is destructive, it isn't safe. It has no safety.

Crunch. The bones break. Boom. The body falls to the ground with a heavy thud, and dust rises in a cloud from his fallen figure. And I stand over him, arching a brow. My voice hollow,

"Why are we doing this again Andrew?"

He sends me lopsided grin, and takes my extended hand, pulling himself into a sitting position and letting out a groan, accent thick, nose broken, a soft trickle of blood tracing his cheek,

"I need to train for the games, you know that idiot,"

I arch a brow, voice taught,

"What games?"

He gives me a dumb look and shakes his head sighing,

"That's what we've been calling it. A game. Of hide and seek."

The dust clears, like pain, it falls back to the floor. I watch each droplet and my eyebrows dip down, my eyes on him,

"What is?"

He stares at me for a second. And then grins, looking back down,

"Finding them, the death eaters, they hide in plain sight, all marked up under their sleeves, waiting for us to pounce. I think the solution is outlawing long sleeves,"

He grins, but I simply stare at him. And look down. My voice heavy,

"They are no longer the enemy. No. They are no longer who is important."

His grin fades, and he looks down, hand wiping out the blood,

"Jay, you haven't heard have you?"

My eyes find his, and he goes on, voice shaking,

"People are saying you Potters are not focusing on the actual enemy but something that may not even exist. Who has even seen a forgotten one, have you?"

I give him a long look, and shake my head, eyes rolling, fool. I want to say yes. Yes I have seen more than one. I can still see them. Skin like ice, they grabbed at me, taunted, nothing could kill them. It was hopeless. They are a worse enemy than anything. Skin transparent, monsters.

I run a hand through my hair, long fingers going to take off the boxing gloves, as he collapses against the ropes, wiping the sweat from his brow, and studies me softly,

"You doing okay mate?"

I punch him hard on the arm and he stumbles into the ropes, and gives me a smoky glare and goes on,

"I'm not blind, the funeral was yesterday right? I heard your speech, impressive,"

I rub my eyes, ducking my head,

"Wasn't it? Well that's me, isn't it, impressive?"

He stares at me, hollow,

"Careful now, I'll start to think your sarcasm is irony,"

I extend my hands to my side, and give him a long look,

"Go. Ahead."

He stares at me, in horror, and shakes his head,

"There are rumours…"

I give him another long look,

"What rumours?"

He ducks his head, voice careful,

"Rumours that you could have saved her, that you can save a life,"

I stare at him, and glance down, voice choked,

"Well you and me both know that's not possible,"

He laughs softly,

"What you did just now, with the brick, since when is that possible?"

I bite my lip, teeth dragged in between teeth,

"Fool. Things like that have been done by other great men, like Dumbledore,"

He shakes his head, and walks towards me, hand on my shoulder,

"I never heard of oldie Dumbly being able to do magic without a wand,"

I sigh, and lean onto the ropes,

"A wand is just a transmitter of the magic, from your brain, to the wood, to the world, if you take out the wand part, it's just you and the world, more intimate, don't you think?"

He gives me a long studious look and laughs softly,

"Then why, pray tell, do wands exist?"

I nod with him,

"Because without a wand it is not controlled as to the extent of the magic, or how much of it is used, it is uncontrolled, raw, you never know how much force, how much power, but with wands you can extend each thought to a limited amount, the wand will only transmit so much, the magic will only go so far,"

He stares at me, jaw unhinged,

"Bloody hell James, you're a genius, sometimes I forget that you're a genius,"

I grin at him, but it doesn't reach my eyes,

"Mhmm, being smart has its pros, things like freedom, and absolute,"

We are silent for a while, and he turns away, eventually, his voice comes, from far away,

"You going to the D.A meeting today?"

I give him a long look, and grab a bottle of water, pouring some between my lips and the rest over my head, running my hands through my hair, and walk over, passing him a towel, he watches me watch him and then I give a sigh and nod, my voice rough,

"It's been a while since I've gone, but I think I might make an appearance, teach them some life lessons, remind them whose boss,"

Andrew sends me a frightened look and runs a hand over his face. I met Andrew when I began to do the training for an Auror behind my parents' backs. When I was thirteen. He is older, already graduated, and he taught me everything I know, until one day, I was the one who was teaching him and the roles were reversed. I feel kinda bad for the guy in that regard. But he is my friend. I wouldn't say spy that sounds too, what's the word? Brilliant? After all I am not some lord who has spies and servants. No, I have friends with loyalties, and the crave, the hunger for justice.

Ever since we came home, to the Manor I have been seeing him every day, to train. Why? Because Rose BlackThorne took my hand and she did not beg, she made a deal, that we would take them down, for Dom. Though we haven't spoken on the matter since, it is agreed. And so I need a reminder of how to train, for she will have to train, to learn how to be fearless. How to fight. Normally we duel with wands, sparring with spells, but today, I wanted a change, both, fists, and raw magic, and of course the piece of wood with the unicorn hair in it. The funeral was yesterday. And I am bitter. I am broken. Everyone is so sad, so how can I justify being sad as well?

He stands, patting me on the back, eyes following my every movement, and shakes his head slow, voice gravely,

"They won't be expecting you; they might even be a bit mad… You sure it's the best idea?"

I look out, at the arena, the thousands of spells flashing like lightning, the hundreds of Aurors, brows stern, determination in their eyes. And I give a small nod, hand finding my hair,

"I have been gone for too long…"

He stares at me in an almost sickened horror, and nods in response, murmuring,

"Yes you have…"

I flash him a quick grin, and I see it, a fear,

"But James, what if, what if now is not the right moment, what if they don't take your crap anymore, then what?"

I give him a long, curious look, and my voice drops, till it is very quiet,

"What do you mean by that?"

He shakes his head, voice deathly quiet,

"There have been murmurs of a revolt, people don't like how you Potters are handling it all, and with Dom dead, they are thinking, well, thinking that you all are too emotionally invested now,"

I lower my eyes, and let out a hollow laugh, my voice breaking, fractured,

"Emotionally invested? What the hell does that mean?"

He lowers his eyes, draping the towel around his neck,

"They think you will be rash, oh James everything is imploding,"

I slam my fist into the wall, and watch the knuckles split open, and blood gush over the hidden white of bone. I'm not covered in steal today. No today I am mortal. And so he goes on, voice hollow,

"Draco Malfoy has information he is refusing to give to the D.A about the remaining death eaters until someone heals his wife, she's sick again, or perhaps she never got better…"

I close my eyes; I can see Albus and Scorpius entangled together, lips interlocked. What will Al do if I don't take action?

I close my eyes. Fine Malfoy, if you want to play it like that, then we can play it like that. You want me to save her, okay, then I will. I can play to your tune, as long as you can play to mine.

I give him a grin as he walks back into the changing rooms. But I pause, and look out at the soldiers, prepared for anything. And let out a heavy breath, turning and following him in. The shower is hot, the water cools it down, the rage, it undoes the knots of stress, the pain of the aching muscles. The mirror is fogged up. But I study myself. My gaze determined. Just like theirs.

My fingers are long, nails clipped, my arms are well defined, the muscles ripple with each movement, my collarbones stand out and my abdominal muscles are prominent, my hips slender. I am growing taller. I am at 6'3 now. All physical features anyone who looks at me can list off. Anyone. Am I anyone? Can anyone read me?

Who am I? This seems like such a whirlwind of life. Who am I? I am beautiful, but beyond that, underneath that what am I? I cannot just be an image? Then why are you not crying? Why are you not screaming? Why are the tears bottled in, huh James? No one will judge you for shedding a tear, no one will judge, for they are all crying. Why can't you be more like them?

I let out a breath. Rolling my shoulders back, the mirror copies the movement. I blink; the boy in front of me blinks too. This is magic. A mirror, how it copies, its muggle magic. It's scary magic. I drop my head forward, eyes closing, and I think of her. Dom. And I can see the flames of the boat, and the ash rising and turning like hell. Are you proud of me Dom? I have been holding everyone together, I smile when they cry, I hold them, everyone, anyone, stranger, friend, relative. I am so exhausted though Dom. I feel very tired. But I promised I would be strong for them, for Rose.

Oh Rose. She does not eat, until I place the food onto her plate, she does not talk until I ask her a question. She does not sleep until I play music. She does not smile. I have not solved that one yet. But I will. I can do anything. Yes. That's right, confident James, brave James, happy James, there for you James.

Hugo and Lily slept in my arms last night, and when I woke up, it was to their sobs, and when I fell asleep it was to their tears. It seems endless. I am sick of watching people cry. Don't they know that that is not what she wanted for us? How she wanted us to be strong? Why aren't we stronger?

The clothes, are getting tiring too, suit after black suit. I swear the day I wear grey the press will literally have a heart attack. The idea of the press having a heart attack actually sounds quite appealing, to be honest.

I apparate out of the training rooms, black silk covering black silk, and my feet hit the ground, hair still damp.

The terrace. And I walk out, hands running over the railing, the stone is cold, and I close my eyes, head tilted back, breathing in the whirlwind of life. It's my mother's voice that breaks in, quiet,

"Are you going today James?"

I raise an eyebrow and crack an eye open, leaning on the railing,

"Why not? You scared that I shouldn't go?"

She stands in sweatpants, hair knotty, eyes tired and shades of purple circles under her eyes. She shakes her head, voice thin,

"No. You should."

I quirk an eyebrow at that, and sit on the railing, perched, dangerously close to falling to the ground. To death. She looks down at her hands and her voice is a lullaby,

"I talked to Minerva. She wants to. Well she wants to talk to you James, she wants to apologise, you should have seen her face, how broken- oh James how broken we all are…"

Ahh Minerva. I can feel it again that rage. White spots in my eyes, my pulse speeding, my anger fuelling. I look down, and my voice is dangerously angry, dangerously close to falling,

"I'm not. Broken that is-"

She laughs, softly, as if she finds me ironic.

"Yes you are. It's nothing to be ashamed of James. You can be proud of how much you loved her. Proud of it. Show the world it. Please. James?"

I meet her eyes. And she lets out a sigh, and her voice is quiet,

"I wanted a few more years of you being my little boy, I wanted a few more days of you asking me to make you mac and cheese from the package, I wanted another minute of you asking me how to do a spell, how to live, laughing at how you would pronounce a word wrong,"

A tear traces her cheek. And I can feel it. A crack in my heart. In my anger, a crack is all it takes, a crack and the tears will come. Resist James. Her voice shakes,

"But you grew up so fast, and before I knew it you were telling me the answers, telling me how to live, telling me, you don't ask anymore, it would be nice if you asked, just every once in a while, I feel like, I feel like there is a distance between us, that I cannot cross, this gaping, horrible distance, and I can't reach you, not anymore,"

She runs a hand over her face, turning her back to me. And her voice is the wind,

"You cannot suffer what Harry and I suffered. You can't. Don't you see? We will never be the same. We will never have a full night of sleep. We will never go a day without regret. James, you can't live this life, how did I let you get into this life?"

Her eyes close, and her brow shakes, trembling, red hair dancing like flames in the wind, and slowly I stand, and I take her hand, and we stare at each other. And her voice is soft.

"I would go through this for you a thousand times, just to not let you witness once. I would give it all up. I would give everything up just to have you back; can I have my little boy back? Where did he go? Where did you go?"

The tears are clear like glass. And she wraps her arms around me, and my voice is thick, the crack is growing,

"He's right here mum, I'm right here, I'm right here…"

She leans into me, her sobs are soft. Everything is so soft. I feel like screaming. I feel like killing. I feel like pain will either eat me alive, or eat them alive. And I cannot die. We stand in the wind, hair red like flames dancing around us, rising around us, and her tears are wet on my shoulder, and the world has stopped. And I can see it. A future of flames, her hands are warm. Let her last. Let mum last.

And the forgotten stop their marching and look up; they can taste it, a crack, a weakness to a fortress. And with noses in the air the hunt begins, with her hands around me and my arms around her, her head rests on my heart, and she listens to each pound, each beat, the rhythm, and she does not let go. She won't. And she shouldn't. Because she is warm, she is reassuring, she is everything, mothers and sons, fathers and daughters, all of us.

A family, a friend, a world. My eyes are closed, and the sunlight will never be as warm as she is. And the crack heals, she loves you James. And this is okay, it's better than okay. We are doing good. Because she is here, and she is holding you, and she does not miss the child you were. She does not think you grew up too fast. Right? Right?

And with time her hands drop, and we let go of each other, and she steps away, and she smiles. She has a beautiful smile. My mum. Albus has that smile; Lily has that smile, why don't I have that smile?

Its lunch time and we sit at the table. The Potters. And slowly I stand, and slip away, out the door.

Rose. She stands on the edge of the gardens. And in her palm she holds a rose, white, petals perfectly formed. She glances up at the sound of my heavy steps. And she lets out a breath, eyes dipping shut, and she tips her head back. And slowly the rose slips from her warm fingers and crashes to the ground. It makes no sound.

We look out at the sun, the woods, the sea, and her hand, delicate, fingers long dance across a gold chain, thin, with a little bottle, and I recognise in it. An eternal flame. Hermione's work. An eternal flame is the ash of the dead, that will burn forever, until you have forgotten them, the dead, and then the flame goes out and the ash is dust. The flames glimmer in the sunlight, flickering against the glass, Dom's glass, Dom's life. Over.

She is going to tell me something. I can see it. Regret in her eyes before she speaks. And I feel it again, anger. I wanted someone, maybe anyone. No, her, I wanted her to stand by me, to hold me. I wanted to cry, but she didn't come. And how can I go to her and cry? Is that something people do? And what words would I say? Sorry?

She has been distant, kind of gone, and I have tried to stand by her, tried. But there is so much. And the beautiful girl I like, maybe love is strong, fiery, she isn't broken. I wish she didn't break. Maybe, somewhere in my head I thought me and her were more alike, but now, I see her as this far away beauty. And I can't find her, I've lost her. I miss her.

She says nothing for a while. And then she finds her voice.

"James Sirius Potter. I am about to destroy our world. I am warning you, that you will not like me very much."

I let out a laugh, and grab onto her wrist, turning her to face me, and look down, eyes searching for hers,

"Who said I liked you?"

She lets out a high laugh and rips her wrist from my grip. Boom. Tongue over lips, she looks down, and then back up. Voice heavy,

"No one did. But maybe, it's me saying I liked you,"

My jaw tightens, she said liked not like. And again there is a distance. And there also an alarm. Oddly, she reminds me of Sheila, in the alleyway, ready to ruin my life, to ruin fake happiness. I like happiness. I like dreams. I like her. My voice shakes, keep it even James,

"Why the past tense?"

She backs up, each step hitting the ground with a pound of my heart, and she shakes her head, cheek caught between teeth, and I see a pain, no anger, just pain, perhaps she is also regretting not telling me before. And there is this odd sense of farewell. As if she is backing away from a monster. But she is the one person who will never give up on you, right?

Her eyes are like a meadow, I can see wolves in them, a future in them, just follow her James, and you will never lose that future. Fate is sitting forward now, on the edge of his seat, excited, breathless on what happens next. My feet follow her.

She looks down, and then back up, eyes shining like the mirror, like a gem stone, she can be your gem James, just keep going. The sky descends, brushing our fingertips, the details stand out, the dew on the grass, her dark eyelashes, the grey sun, the dark clouds gathering in the west, the sound of a blue jays whistle, a hawks caw, an owls hoot, I remember these.

She is wearing blue; the dress is beautiful, embroidered with little daises on the edges of the sleeves. It has no back, but clings to her skin, it flows around her, like water, I watch it, I am fascinated by it. Her legs are slender long, freckles dust her cheeks and she could be yours. That's what you want James, right? Follow her, nothing she says can scare you away. James Potter is scared of nothing.

Her lips, cherry coloured, move to the rhythm of words,

"Because I don't want to get my hopes up. I don't want to think that you have some sort of obligation to continue to care,"

I walk towards her, eyes searching hers, and her gaze is steady, but her heart is racing, she fears it, the next couple minutes, why? Eventually she holds a hand out pressing it into my chest, stopping me, preventing me from following her, from holding her, getting to know her. Her hand is a barrier. No one can pass it. One can see the other side. It ends here, between skin, between blood, between flesh, her gaze is strong,

"I think I might break your heart Potter. I think I might hurt you if I don't tell you now. So I am going to. Aren't I? Right Rose, aren't you?"

She lowers her gaze, and steps back again, turning away, looking out at the view, and slowly she walks, not glancing back to see if I am following, but I do, softly, one step, two steps, ten steps, twenty steps, thirty, forty, we near the forest, her hand brushes against the oaks bark, fifty, grass crushed under feet, sixty, evergreen leaves shadowing the sun, dancing across our skin, sixty-five, she jumps over the fallen log, moss grows, I can see the white roots, seventy, eyes dart back, golden suns meeting green meadow-seas, golden hair dances behind her, flowing down her back, and then she is running, she comes alive, and I am running after, ducking under tree branches, leaves caught in her hair, she is spring, she is summer, she is winter, she is autumn. She is all of the seasons, everything.

Eighty, I trace her footsteps, her feet are bare, dirt clinging to white clear skin, she turns, wind flinging her hair over her shoulder, and it dances in her eyes, and I blink, and she is going again.

The fairies peek out of their homes, they watch us, their wings transparent, the sun chases us in the sky, time chases us by, I can see creatures, rabbits, eyes blue, she twirls around a tree, eye desperate to never stop running, why? Ninety, the wind is turning cold, the shadows are growing, but I won't stop following. The trees are alive, the forest closes in, her feet hit the ground with a boom, and another boom, eyes wide, whites prominent, she is skittish, she is afraid. Then she stops.

And she bows her head, back to me, her shoulders slouched, and I can see it, a pain in a lie.

Voice broken.

"I remember the street. It was covered in blood. My blood. Or maybe a little girls blood. Who was very sick."

I step forward, she steps backwards. It's a dance of fate. A dance of truth.

"She was little, she was younger than Lily, her wrists were cut open, veins dripping, I remember wondering who cut them open."

She turns and walks away from the sun, to the shadows, she is more comfortable in the darkness. I follow. I was her puppet. I was there for her, I was a rock, an anchor, her eyes hold a fear, her voice is careful,

"She died that day. In me and Scorp's arms, because we wouldn't dare to use magic to save her. At that time, we couldn't use magic out of school. I remember being scared. We dragged her back, her corpse, over the worn welcome mat, up the stairs, with the broken third step, we were careful to not let her head hit the cracked wallpaper, we placed her in my room."

She nods, and turns slowly to face me.

"We carried her back to the orphanage. To my room. She died there. I don't think I've ever been able to sleep in that bed again. I prefer the floor. It has less ghosts. Less memories. The floor."

I can feel my pulse pick up. The orphanage. Of course. Fool James. You idiot. Her eyes when they asked about her family. Her eyes, liars' eyes. I hate liars. You should have known. But you didn't, why? Because you trusted her to tell you, you, because you thought you and her were close, you thought that you were worth something, more than lies. Because you believed she was the best thing that had ever happened in your miserable life, so you refused to believe that the best thing would destroy you. Not like that.

Her eyes are stunning, and I have nothing to say. There is nothing to say. And I don't follow her anymore. I step back. Boom. And her voice trembles,

"That little girl did not have a mother. She had no father. No sister. No brother. No family. No relatives. That is what an orphan is. Someone without, someone lacking people. People that are given names in society, people like guardians that put dinner on the table, that ask you how your day was. She didn't have that kind of people."

No tears fall. Sympathy. Empathy. Pity. Words I will never understand, they are either on your side or against you, who are you Rose BlackThorne? Who are you? She simply stares, and then she looks up, through the tree branches, where the sun can be seen far, far, far, far away. And her voice cracks,

"I wondered who cut her arms open, because, surely, it could not have been the act of a seven year old child. Most seven year olds aren't even allowed to pick up a knife, or go in the kitchen. But, she bled out on the street, with a bloodied stray cat bone, sharpened till it was pointy enough to do the deed."

She nods, and lets out a breath,

"She cut herself. She bled out. She did not have some famous last phrase that will be remembered in history. In fact she never had a chance at history. No, she died before she could maybe get a letter to Hogwarts, or attend a High School, she never got a chance. When we buried her. We called her the girl with no name. Her parents hadn't given her one. And no one cared enough to have granted her a nickname. In fact no one cared at all."

She lets out a hysterical laugh, and a single clear tear traces her face, running over her cheek. And she backs away, farther into the darkness. And watches me with wide open eyes.

"I always wondered if I would die that way too. But I never did. That was the first time I watched someone die. In this unjust world, a lot of people die every day. So, why does it feel so surreal? I don't know, perhaps I am weak, perhaps, I should have tried harder to save her, to save Dom. To save anyone."

She nods to herself. We stand quiet. I lived for you Rose. I didn't save Dom because you said you could not live without me. You swore to me that you could not live without me. What a mess you have made. Good luck. Living without me. Without Dom. She can see it. I know she can, pain, rage, anger. She can see and she knows it is too late. She knows it. So why doesn't she stop?

And then she speaks. Voice breaking,

"I don't have a mom,"

She pauses, and my hand falters. Her breath is ragged. I step forward but she shakes her head, eyes wide and the tears stream down her face. Her breath shakes, and she goes on,

"I don't have a dad,"

I step towards her. One, two, three, four, five. We are parallel. She is an orphan James. I blink, I can see them, skin transparent, my spells didn't work on them, I remember running. I never run. Dom dead. Mundungus dead. Because of them. Orphans. Can you keep walking forward James, can you trust her? Can you? Will you? My jaw is locked. My hands are fists, my fingernails are sharp. My heart is thudding. She closes her eyes, and she trembles, teeth hitting teeth, biting her lip till a trickle of blood flows down her chin.

"I don't have a brother."

She is giving up James. She thinks you won't step closer. What do you think James? Will you? But they are dead. Dom is dead. And something clicks. I am not a fool. I AM NOT A FOOL. How could Dom possibly get sick, how could she die? Why target her? My eyes are closing, Rose is there, on my front step, I fly down to great her. She is covered in blood. Blood stains, shirt gone. Eyes worn, she is terrified. Why? She isn't hurt. Why does it look like that much blood means death? If that was her blood she should be dead. But was she? NO. What does that mean? Think James, what does that mean?

Eyes open, gold and green. The sun and the sea. She raises her chin. This is it. Game over, no backing down. This is it. Now what? Do you comfort, do you except, do you tell your mind to stop thinking? She cannot control her birth James. She cannot. So why blame? Do I blame? Do I care about her? Do I? I brought her into my family's home, into our arms, up the stairs, into my heart. Now what?

Voice crimson, like blood. I am sickened. She could be one. On seventeen she could be one, then what? Do I kill her, do I protect her? Do I risk that? I can't kill her, so what, do I let her kill me? What happens when she comes for you, for your family, then what? Think logic, not heart, don't go closer.

It is choked, her voice, just a whisper,

"I don't have a sister"

She pauses and lets out a sigh, a hand curving up, long fingers swiping at the blood. And slowly her gaze shifts. She stares at the crimson red on her fingers. And I do too. Cobblestones, she is missing a heart. The blood that covered Rose was on her chest, right over her heart. The dots are connecting, I am sickened, repulsed. I am blind. Blinded by the hope that she would be different.

She doesn't look away. Voice quiet. Dead to me. I listen to her silence, her words,

"No relatives,"

I swallow. And I want to say I know Rose. But no words come. How can I say that? How can I? There is a place, a seat at a long mahogany table in the Ministry waiting for you. You can't get emotionally involved. You can't. You cannot take their side, the orphans, you cannot sympathize. Then you will be a traitor. Politics is a blood bath. I don't want to bleed. I hate bleeding, it makes me mortal. She slowly opens her eyes, and searches mine, and I can see a love in them, she loves you James. She trusts you James. She is yours James. But I am not hers. And I feel my weight shift. Backwards. Onto my heels, not my toes. Away from her. There are barriers, there are rumours, there is this life I chose to live. It's between us, it's on my shoulders, it's the storm clouds coming.

She licks her lips, and stares into my eyes, and she steps forward, raising her chin. Heart in her throat. And her words break me.

"What does that make me?"

We watch each other, centimetres apart, and somewhere, beneath common sense, a voice, my voice chants to kiss her. To hold her. To except her. But my eyes won't stay open, and my mind won't stay in one place. They are like dots, red dots smeared on the pavement, red dots of Dom's blood. My mom's voice, "Why was she covered in blood James?" and I am back, back in the hallway, running from divination, her eyes on me, "These rumours about the beasts that crawl the streets, that hunt the chosen ones, if they are poisoning people, maybe their minds deserve to be whipped?" She had cared too much about the forgotten. Cared too much. And I see her. Running to the bathroom with V not far behind. After the news of the attack the forgotten made in Peru. We had all wondered how they could possibly be related to the cases. Her. Who were they? But I already know. And I say it, voice cold,

"It makes you an orphan."

She flinches at the harsh words, and her lips part, shaking, eyes a reflection of my pain, and I am going mad, I am going insane, I am stuck in this insanity. I am stuck in her arms, and she is in my heart. Roses have thorns, and she has cut me and I am bleeding red. Crimson red pain on her lips.

I go on, harsh, I am cruel, I am not weak, there is a distance, and a crack, but no tears, just white blinding dots of rage, my voice is thick,

"The family in Peru, they were your foster family, weren't they, the family you were supposed to spend Christmas with. And the forgotten killed them. Why is that Rose?"

She stares at me, and I see it. Hurt. Raw and painful hurt. And her voice breaks, ever so slightly at the edges,

"It was a warning. To me. That they could kill people close to me. That they would if they had to. If they wanted to."

I nod, and step back. Boom. Feet hitting the ground. And I see it, a pain, and she closes her eyes, and lets out a breath. Her voice choked.

"I will answer any question. I will give up the dresses, the books. I will leave as soon as I have packed, I won't bother you anymore. This I swear."

She nods, and lets out a breath. And looks up at me, she is brave. But she is not who she says she is. She is not perfect James, no she is flawed, she is human. I hate humans. They are bothersome creatures, because they make you care. Her voice trembles, chin raised,

"What do you want to know?"

I go to walk away. But stop, and turn back, mind spinning,

"Who else knows?"

She stares at me, and looks down, voice shaking,

"Let's not drag other people into our mess,"

I let out a high laugh, tongue running over teeth,

"Did she know, Dom, did she know?"

She stares at me. And then closes her eyes, wincing and nods. I nod with her,

"Right. The forgotten tore her to bits; does that have something to do with you?"

She stares at me, and her voice is just a murmur, but I can hear it, the pain,

"It is as much my fault as it is yours."

I step forward, gaze angered, the rage is getting to me, the rage is coming, the rage is here,

"What the hell does that mean?"

She looks down and then she looks back up, at me, our eyes meeting,

"Why do you think they killed her James? Because she was some random target? Or because they knew it would hurt you, you Potters, you Weasleys, the D.A, the people they want to hurt, hurt. Did you feel it James? It was a shift in power, and they have the upper hand, we don't understand them, we don't know them, we don't…"

I lick my lips,

"But you do, don't you? You've met one, haven't you? That day, when you came for winter break, you met one, but whose blood was it, you weren't bleeding, and they don't bleed. Whose blood was it Rose?"

She winces again, voice shaking,

"Yes. I have met one. The night before. It attacked me. I… It…"

She lets out a choked sob, and backs away, her hands on her temples, and her voice shakes,

"It was my blood. I should not be alive James. But I am, aren't I?"

I shake my head, what does that mean? That she shouldn't be alive? Does that mean she should be dead? There is concern, there is regret, there is the barrier. There is my voice,

"I don't understand, that's not possible, the amount of blood on your clothes is enough to be dead, normal people that loose that much blood at least have a wound, but you didn't have a scratch, how does that make sense?"

She shakes her head, eyes lowered,

"It doesn't…."

I go to walk away. But her voice calls out to me,

"I told you because I trust you. I told you because I didn't think you were the type of person to judge someone on their birth, I cannot control if my parents gave me away or not, I cannot control if they loved me or not, who are you, you idiot, to walk away from me because of something I couldn't control, something I can't change,"

I turn back, and I watch the tears fall like liquid silver, and I let out a laugh, high, broken. I am broken Rose, why didn't you come to me? Why didn't I cry on your shoulder? Now what? I feel lost, the forest is closing in. I am closed in. And I am raging, and I turn on her with it, the anger, and I am harsh, voice cutting skin,

"I'm not leaving because you are an orphan Rose, I am leaving because you lied to me, and maybe if you didn't lie, I could have saved Dom. And maybe she would be alive. And maybe things would be different…"

I pause, and she stares at me, lips parted, and I shake my head, teeth on teeth, eyes unable to meet hers,

"I don't give a damn if you are an orphan, or a forgotten one, or a death eater, or a spy, or a murderer, but it hurts that you think that I am that shallow, that I would care, that I would care if you are."

She closes her eyes, hands turning into fists, and her shoulders shudder, and I go on, words like bullets,

"You should have told me Rose, because I hate liars. I hate liars, because when they lie once how are you supposed to trust them again, how can you guarantee to me that you won't lie again, that everything you told me just now is the full truth? You can't. You never can."

She falls to her knees. Boom. Dust rises like mist around her, and the sun hits her, head bowed, hands wrapped around herself, tears falling silently, and I walk towards her. My voice soft,

"Don't collapse Rose, it doesn't fit you. Stand. Face me with pride and strength. You are not the girl that begs. Get up."

I spit the words, hot, with fury, she stares up at me, and her mouth hangs open, and her words are broken,

"I thought. I thought that you wouldn't like me much if I told you, I thought that, that you would be like what everyone said you would be. But you must understand, I had to be sure you would not tell, that you would care enough to not tell,"

I let out a high laugh,

"Care enough about what? You? So, what, you wouldn't have told me if I didn't let you into my heart, what, because that's some sort of insurance that I won't tell? What makes you so sure you got to my heart Rose? Huh?"

She slowly stands, and we stare at each other. And her voice is loud, rising to match mine,

"I did. I know I did, because you got to mine, and I regret, I regret not telling you James, I regret it. And I will not beg, but I will tell you, that I hate them, the forgotten, they have ruined me, I can never be proud of who I am, I can never defend my actions, and there is a terrifying thought, that maybe, in three years, on my birthday, I will turn into one, and you, or some other Auror will have to kill me. And you have no idea what it is like, knowing your friends might have to hunt you, and praying, begging them to kill you if it happens. If I am one."

She lets out a breath, and I can feel my hands form fists, and my voice rises and we are screaming at each other, my voice ragged,

"AND WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I AM THE ONE WHO HAS TO KILL YOU? Do you think I could? Because I don't I think I could, I think I would take your side, I think I would protect you, a monster, a fool. Don't you get it? MY JOB IS TO HUNT DOWN FORGOTTEN. I GET PAYED FOR IT."

She turns away, and lets out a scream, rounding on me,

"And if I am one I will beg you on bent knee to kill me, I will beg you to murder me, I will beg, because that will not be me, that will not be this Rose, you know this Rose, you know me, James, you know me."

She reaches for my hand but I pull away head shaking, eyes dangerously close to exploding, and my voice is broken,

"No. I don't think I know this Rose. I know this other girl, who has never seen horrible things, who doesn't lie, who doesn't stop me from saving my cousin, who doesn't ruin my heart."

I shake my head, backing away, each step an earthquake,

"I have no idea who you are. I only know your name. I only know that. And it isn't enough, you aren't enough."

I turn and I am walking away, I am leaving, but her voice stops me dead. And she screams it.

"I love you James Sirius Potter."

Boom. I can't feel. I can't move. No one. No one says that to me. She loves you. Merlin James. Now what? God damn it Rose why did you have to say that? How am I supposed to walk away from you now, how do I do that?

She smiles, it is broken, and slowly, she stands on her tip toes, millimetres away,

"I am a liar. I hate liars. So I hate me."

She leans closer, eyes glued on mine,

"And you are a fool who fell in love with me, and I am blind, because I fell in love with you. And isn't that enough? Aren't we enough?"

I turn to face her, and we stare at each other. And her voice is soft,

"I would do it over and over and over again just to live those moments with you. You taught me how to live. I will teach you how to love, and it will be enough, for now, I swear,"

And she leans in, her eyes dipping shut. Her head tilting to the side, her breathe on mine. Boom. Our lips collide. I can't move. They are soft, salty from tears shed. She is tentative. Her hand cups my cheek. Long fingers sweeping over clear skin, fingers light, skin on skin. My mind is going blank. Now what? Respond James, kiss her back. Her eyelashes tickle my cheek, it is sweet, her breathe smells like honey. Her lips press into mine, I can taste blood, I can taste sadness. I have never been kissed like this before. She scoots closer, lips parting, breathing in the breath held, she is an angel, but her wings are broken James, can you really not hold her? Since when did you care so much about this woman, so much that you are hurt by her lying. You are never hurt. Never. She lets out a breath, the air slipping between flushed lips and into mine, down, into my lungs. She is sweet, she is intoxicating, her hair dances across my fingertips in the breeze, it tickles the skin, it chills me, it catches my breath. Lips on lips, and I feel my eyes dip shut, slowly.

She pulls away. Rocking back onto her heels. Eyes wide, her lips swelled and pink, her cheeks rosy. And she stares at me. Mouth agape. And we watch each other. Golden and green. And I can hear it. Fate is holding its breath. Waiting to see what I will do. And so is she. And maybe I am too. Her hand goes to her lips, delicate fingers tracing the rise and fall of the red flesh. Her chest rises and falls. Her eyes watch me with a fear. A fear that I will go. She loves you. You can't leave. You want to be loved. Well, here she is, loving you. Merlin James hold her. But I can't. It is too much.

I find my voice, and there is no image. It is raw. You are real, aren't you James? Yes. I am. My voice shakes as I go to speak,

"God damn it Rose. Now what? Now what?"

I shake my head backing away, eyes hurt, more broken than her eyes, sadder than her eyes. And my voice is raw, and I can feel it a sob, time running away from me,

"I don't hate you. I just don't like you very much. Not right now. How can I?"

And I am gone, apparating away in a swirl of smoke. And leaving behind a young girl, with a hand growing cold, lost in the woods, standing in the shadows, with no truth left to hide, and honesty full of holes. A net full of lies. And in that little girls head she thinks to herself how she should have told him everything. But there is no going back. And the truth told is not all there is to hear.

I don't know where I am. My back hits the brick wall. Boom. And I can't blink. My hand is on my lips, tracing them, she kissed you. She loves you. James. What the hell just happened? And there is something wet, something warm, slipping down my cheek, tracing over my cheekbone. And I catch it on a callused finger.

A tear.

My feet hit the ground. Boom. The ministry steps are golden. People stop walking. They stare. The cameras flash. One step. The questions come like a hurricane. But I can only see her. Her lips parted. Two steps. The golden stairs shine in the sunlight. The clouds have cleared. They ask. Over and over. The coat is long, it flaps around me, the wand is cold, my pulse won't steady.

Boom. The doors open at my command, and they slam on the publics faces. Stay out. And they do. The statue rises before me. And I stare up at it. Albus Dumbeldore painted and depicted in marble. And I stare at him. His spectacles resting on his nose. Is this, this world what that great man wanted? Could he have ever thought that this would be the outcome of the war? Could he have known? No.

The elevator isn't empty. I am joined by Edward Elador. He is a tall man, around the same height as I am. His eyes follow me. And he tilts his head. Eyes a dark brown. I glance down at his arm, just there, at the edge of his sleeve, I can see the beginning of the Dark Mark. His eyes follow the calculated movement. And he grins, eyes narrowed,

"I haven't seen you around Potter, what, finished with taking a vacation? Some of us don't have the option of taking months off, because we would get fired. But you didn't, did you? It must be a lucky life, mustn't it, being on top, I remember the feeling."

I close my eyes and clasp my hands behind my back. Head tilted back, hair falling out of my eyes. My voice thick,

"You're right. I should be fired. At least, I should have stopped getting payed. But the world isn't fair. Perhaps at the meeting today you can make an official complaint. They will heed it, and a vote will take place, and simply because you're an ex convent and death eater, it won't go through. Funny isn't it, how past actions won't ever leave us alone? How they follow us like ghosts."

He nods his head. Eyes hard,

"Yes. It is not a fair world Mr. Potter. Yet I doubt you are complaining. Are you?"

I stare at the back of his head. Hair dark brown. Smoothed back. We are quiet, and then he speaks, voice quiet,

"Last meeting we talked about hunting them. The forgotten. Capturing and hostaging. But. I don't think that's a good idea. What do you think?"

He glances back at me. I shake my head, my voice lowering as well,

"We can't capture them. Because then we would be bringing them into the heart of the ministry, we would be declaring war. We would be doing what they want us to do. No. We need to make a truce, fake, but an alliance full of holes is better than dead bodies. We trade, make a deal."

He nods at me,

"You think like a business man. Not a boy. I've always preferred you to the other bloody Potters. You think of winning, not both sides benefitting. You are cruel James Sirius Potter. You remind me of-"

He breaks his sentence. And chuckle, dark. I watch him, and I nod my voice angered, hurt, maybe understanding,

"I remind you of Tom. Don't I?"

He arches a brow, and then he unbuttons his cuff, and rolls up his sleeve, the dark mark is a wicked deformity. And I stare at it, the snake is not still, as it should be, no it is moving, swirling, tongue hissing, through the eye socket, the decayed teeth, out of the nose, slithering in the skull on his arm. Very alive, his voice is a whisper,

"Ever since Dominique died, it's been moving, and there are whispers on the street Mr. Potter, that there is a change in the air, can you feel it; the wind is running towards us, which side should we take?"

I stare at him. And he rolls down his sleeve. Grinning,

"What shocked? It'll be discussed at this meeting anyways, you Potters and Weasleys keep your eyes on us very carefully, and the dark mark, constantly monitored, the minute she stopped breathing, the minute it came awake. Interesting right?"

He nods. I bite my lip, voice quiet,

"Stay in line Edward. There are other rumours, of a rebellion. Let's not entertain the thought of such things. Unless you mean it as a threat?"

He shakes his head. Eyes dancing, the doors open, his feet hit the marble, and his eyes capture me, for just a millisecond,

"Oh no. It's just interesting how easily you Potters are distracted, the forgotten is the only enemy you see on the horizon, as a friend, and a comrade, I feel like I should warn you that there is more than one threat in the air. But by all means, focus on the ghost like monsters that hunt little girls, and kill their own kind."

The doors close. Boom. He smelled like blood. I look down at the floor. His footprints are red. Size 12. Warning. Threat. Here, in this building everyone is an enemy, every drop of crimson blood has meaning. That's what Politics is. Hell with many faces.

The doors ding open. And I glance up, its three people, two men, a woman. The faces are all familiar. They look me up and down. And bow their heads slightly. I do the same. Respect for fellow D.A members is necessary. Luis Karkaroff, Lisa GreyBack, John Timber.

Slytherins. All seventh years. They stare at me, out of the corner of their eyes. And eventually it is Lisa, a pretty thing, long black locks, thin, tall, hands like talons, eyes almost silver white, who turns to me, her eyes curious.

"You're back? You didn't bother to show up to the big vote for whipping their memories? Happy or sad it was refused?"

I arch a brow,

"No comment."

She nods, and Luis faces me as well, eyes wandering over me, his voice soft, he is not hot tempered like his father. More calm, better put together. I respect that.

"Why the meeting today? Is it really necessary?"

I nod my head, eyes lost in thought,

"We need to respond to the attack. We need to sort out the connections; we need to find out who we are really facing, because right now, we have no idea. And that makes us weak, it makes us vulnerable."

He nods his head softly. It is John Timber, who attempt to remember in the future, for he is important, that breaks in, voice like ice,

"I heard she was deformed, and that for the funeral you had to piece her back together, like a puzzle, how pitying, she was pretty too. Never even made it to graduation,"

My pulse picks up a pace, and Lisa watches the vein tick, and breaks in, voice sickly sweet,

"I heard they have a prisoner. Some orphan girl who has witnessed it, an attack, they say she has no name,"

No name. I feel my heart skip a beat. And Rose's words from the previous conversation hit me. No name, she had no name. No one cared to give her one. Ouch. I don't wince. My gaze stays steady.

It is John, who asks, voice heavy,

"Who brought her in?"

Luis answers that, eyes never leaving mine,

"Draco, as he tries to redeem himself for switching sides, back and forth, and so on, the evidence of that in a hospital bed, poor woman, shouldn't have married a traitor."

I roll my eyes, hands forming fists, and let out a hollow breathe,

"What did I miss?"

Lisa gives me a long look, and shakes her head,

"Nothing. It's a mess, we can't come to common ground, the votes are too close, and everything so corrupted we have to vote again, and again, until we end up where we started. Hermione and Harry try to keep it under control. But it's hopeless, you Potters are no longer as high up as you used to be. In fact, some are saying you are slipping,"

I tilt my head back, and stare at her,

"You forget. All the debts you owe all the control we have outside of the room. How is your father, Lisa?"

Fenrir GreyBack. One of the main followers of Voldemort, a werewolf that bit Bill. He went to Azkaban. He hasn't come out yet. She stares at me. Eyes wide and I go on,

"Isn't he going on trial next month, the 28th if I am not mistaken?"

She swallows. And nods curtly, voice hollow,

"You look so young Mr. Potter that I often forget how cruel you are."

She turns around. Head held high. But it is John Timber that goes on, voice mocking,

"I wouldn't bother calling him Mr. Potter, but more like blood traitor, after all, its heard that you have been getting pretty close to the mudblood girl, the Ravenclaw, who was friends with Dominique, what's her name, Lisa?"

She glances at John. Eyes wide. But he goes on, voice cold,

"Let me see, it was a flower, Violet, no Lily, no that's not it, R, R-O something, huh, what's her name Mr. Potter?"

I can hear the blood running through my ears. He has a death wish. Fine. I am fine with fulfilling it.

"Call her mudblood one more time fool,"

He grins, and ducks his head,

"Looks like I've hit a nerve. Is she a weakness James? You shouldn't show your enemies your weakness so easily, we might just have to test your limits, and she is so delicate, so pretty, so easy to kill. All mudbloods are, aren't they?"

I step forward, hands trembling, but Luis shakes his head. We are going into a negotiation. He is reminding me I won't be let in if I beat him up here. That is the law. No fighting, not before the negotiation. Behind closed doors, no one can stop that that is when spells and fists fly. And my voice rings, if I can't fight him, I can hurt him with words.

"It's funny that you are calling me a blood traitor when you're mum is a muggle, so that makes you what? A half-blood, doesn't that make you also not a pures equal? Right? It makes you my equal, because I'm not pure blooded either. Funny isn't it, if you really want to get into all that blood class nonsense, I'd still win."

He stares at me. Face Red. Eyes cast downwards.

The elevator rises and rises, until it reaches the top floor, Number 234. Ding. It opens, and we leave. Four people that look ordinary on the streets but hold a power and an influence on the world that you cannot begin to imagine.

And a blonde boy stands before tall oak doors, dressed in black, eyes on mine Blue on gold. Malfoy on Potter. And I can hear Roses words, he knew, he has known all along. Bastard. Am I jealous? No. I am the best. So why does my heart skip a beat? Why does that make any sense? It doesn't.

Scorpius' hand grabs mine, and I turn slowly. His eyes stare into mine. And his head destures to the shadows, so I walk with him, away from the room. And I can hear Andrew's voice in my head, Draco is withholding information, only if someone helps his wife. Scorpius' eyes tell me what he will say next. So I put on a face of indifference. Politics is a game of cards, your poker face matters. Don't hide.

His voice is low, quiet,

"I heard you can save a life James."

I stare at him, and duck my head,

"Maybe. Who told you that?"

He steps closer, eyes searching the shadows,

"Albus. Listen. I need to ask a favour."

I chuckle, dark, head shaking back and forth, eyes tracing him, and my voice cracks down like a whip,

"You've come at a bad time, today has sucked, and I am not in the favour giving mood…"

He closes his eyes, and runs a hand through his white hair, voice close to tears,

"I can't. Listen. Fine, whatever you want to know, I can give you anything you want,"

I tilt my head, and shake it back and forth, grinning,

"Though I do enjoy you begging, you don't have anything I want."

He steps forward, eyes on mine, and he traces my interest with each word, and he knows what I want, and he risks it. Fool. His voice begs, low, eyes darting,

"You want to win the next D.A vote on the Death Eaters, don't you? Well we have information, us Malfoys, the reason mum is sick, is because we got some good dirt."

I lick my lips, teeth white, tongue red, and I lean closer, breath hot on his ear,

"Fine, I'm interested, but- I want to know what that little girls name was,"

He gives me a confused look, surprised by our proximity, and maybe, by the whispers in the blackness,

"Which girl?"

I grin, and duck my head, eyes digging into his soul,

"The girl with no name, that you carried up the stairs, and onto Rose's bed, what was her name?"

He stared at me. Shock registering,

"Rose told you about that? But she doesn't- she doesn't tell anyone that, not even V,"

I grin, and arch a brow. And then I see it a fear. Registering.

"She told you that she's an orphan."

I nod eyes on him, waiting to see, and I see his eyes close, and he grabs onto me, a hand on each arm, fingers digging into my skin, and his voice rages,

"James bloody Potter you better keep your lips sealed, things could get messy, do you want that? For her?"

I tilt my head, playing him with my eyes, leading him on with his hope, with his anger. And my voice drips,

"Oh, so V, you, Dom, how many more know?"

He backs away, eyes wide,

"That's Rose's secrets, not mine to tell,"

I nod, and then close my eyes,

"Probably Rox and Lucy, but who else?"

And then I let out a sigh. I can see Hermione and her in the window, as I hold Lily and Hugo. Hermione's eyes on her as the news of Peru comes, Hermione on the ministry steps as Rose tries to get me to go shopping, Hermione's words, echoing. She knows too. But I don't tell the shocked Malfoy that.

I tilt my head, and go back to the deal,

"Fine. All of them. Everything you know. Everything your father knows. And not a word Malfoy."

He stares at me and nods, voice soft,

"I'll send you the documents tonight,"

I shake my head grinning,

"Don't bother sending me the documents you found, just give me the memories,"

He swallows hard, eyes wide,

"If you take my memories then I won't remember what they are, if I give them to you, then I won't remember, that's not a fair trade,"

I step closer,

"Is your mum's life not that important?"

He stares at me. And lets out a choked laugh,

"Why does Rose care about you? Why does Albus defend you? What good have you ever done Potter?"

I arch a brow,

"Right back at you. What good have you done? Hmm Malfoy? Why does Albus care about you? Why does Rose defend you?"

We watch each other. And then his wand goes to his temple. And his eyes close. And the memories float out, like liquid silver, blue, turning in the air, and I watch his eyes go empty. Trading memories is a powerful act. Memories only have one copy. Once they are gone. They are gone. He will never remember what information he had on the Death Eaters. And when I use this information, he will not recognise it. The memories float between us.

His voice is soft,

"Save her. And they are all yours. Save my mother James. Bring her back to me. Please. This is me begging you."

I look back, at the room, the D.A members filing in, and I nod, voice soft,

"The meeting sounded boring anyways,"

His hand extends. His eyes question. I take his hand. Fingers over fingers. Skin over skin. Our veins beat in a rhythm. The war has started. And everything is becoming a web, complicated. So how do we tread water, and swim, and breath? The answer is we don't. We drown in it. Corruption. Lies. Stolen Kisses. Politics. And we hit the ground of the pool running. And when the water reaches our lungs it boils.

The hospital bed is white. Her cheeks are hollow. His blue eyes are on mine. The poison is like a maze on her skin, like black ink. My wand is cold. His wand is warm. I close my eyes. The memories slip into my head. Boom. My eyes open wide. He wasn't kidding. That memory. It could destroy the world. And that, my friends is how Scorpius Malfoy made me into a very powerful man. In a little hospital room, with a small white cot, and an almost corpse like woman.

It was like that, wasn't it? But it was behind closed doors. In the room where no one would ever guess big things happened. That is how history is made. Behind closed curtains, not in the spotlight. History is made under the table. A mahogany table. Where the whole world sits. One seat remains empty. At the head. The head of the table.

Who sits there? I wonder.

Maybe I will. Who knows?


	23. The man with the secrets

Chapter 23: The man with the secrets.

~James' POV~

"Mate? You okay? You're so quiet,"

The voice is familiar. It is Fred James. Your friend. Your relative. Why aren't you smiling with him, with them James, are you okay, the question seems sickly, like it is curling in on itself, dying because it has no choice to live. I hate questions that people already know the answer of. I am James Potter, so of course I am okay. Don't ask, it makes me look like a fool, a fool who needs love. A fool who needs comfort, concern, caring. And those are just the C's.

I feel the weight of his hand on my shoulder, voice soft,

"Why were you coming from the hospital?"

I glance at him, green eyes sparkling; his ginger hair is damp from rain, sticking to his freckled skin. He looks worried. I wonder who he is worried about, me, his father, the lack of his cousin, the lack of his uncle, the war, the forgotten, the wand clutched in my fingers, my heart, my mind. But his eyes are fixed on me, and they are not just worried, no, they are also scared. And I can feel the bile rise. It is sickly sweet. The air is hot with the stench of burnt flesh and garbage. The slums have that kinda look, where smoke and ash and fire mix to form gas, and it burns your throat. I like the burn, it makes my eyes water, it makes it look like I could cry. And then Fred takes a deep breath. Because he knows if I am capable of crying, then I am capable of living. That's his logic. I respect it. It make sense to him. Its good when it makes sense, because then I don't have to worry about confusion. Sadness.

He repeats the question, voice agitated,

"James, the hospital? Why?"

My feet drag on the pavement, the rock skids, and I hit it with my heel, watching it skip across the cracked grey, dropping into the drain. I shake my head, and look up, in front of us, are my family. Friends. Friends are family. Sometimes closer. Because they know all of you, or at least the good ones do.

John is getting a piggyback ride from Lorcan, Lysander is chasing after them, grinning, John grabs his wand and takes it, taking off his tie, and transforming it into an umbrella, the rain drops cling to their skin.

John's eyes find mine and he falters, and then grins, sending me a chaste wink, and my lips tip upwards, just a little, just enough. Frank lingers behind the group, to the side, eyes searching the ground, blonde hair sticking to his forehead, black dress suit clutching his skin, he also looks sick of the colour black. I am sick of it too.

I glance at Fred, and shake my head, smiling, glancing down at my shoes,

"I miss this, us,"

He stops walking and faces me, eyes wide, jaw unhinged,

"Did you just say you miss me, wow, James you didn't go to the hospital to check your mental health right? You don't have like some fatal disease or something?"

I roll my eyes and chuckle, hitting him over the head, but he ducks and grins, eyes shining back at mine, voice happy, and though he knows I lack honesty and I am avoiding the question he respects my silence.

He turns, stepping backwards as he faces me, hands finding his pockets, voice soft,

"Jay you are allowed to miss us sometimes, no one will think of you any less,"

I let out a huff, and shake my head, my smile see through, voice a whisper,

"Maybe…"

He scrunches his face up and rolls his eyes, grinning quick, cheeks forming dimples on soft red freckles, and he is back to jokey idiotic Fred, the Fred that also wears a mask, sometimes. Like I do. Just a different one, an immature one, sometimes I forget that he is also in the public eye, also has everyone's attention, just less than I do, that he is also a Weasley, also associated with my family, with this life, that he too may be hurting because of Dom, that he too has a heart he is afraid of showing. He is like you James, except he isn't a murderer, he isn't a killer, he isn't a monster. On second thought I take back my previous statement, he and I are opposites.

He tilts his head, eyes shining with a joy, voice sing song,

"Yeah, it's been a while since we all just hanged out, and took a breath,"

I nod, and sigh, hand going to my hair,

"I want to be a kid Fred. Do you think that is too much to ask?"

He places a hand on each of my shoulders, and shakes his head, eyes sincere,

"You are a kid you idgit, we all are,"

I roll my shoulders back, his hands falling to his side, limp, and I shake my head again, I wish I could tell him, Fred, everything. How I just saved someone's life, how I can do that, how I am in the D.A, and how people are threatening me, and how I am falling in love, and how she kissed me, and how angry Albus will be when Scorpius tells him, and how I am a bad, bad guy, who has killed people before. How I have killed people before. But I can't. Because what if he doesn't like me anymore, what if no one likes me anymore. I need them to like me, to pay me attention, to see me, and talk to me. I need them. So I smile, a little broken, a little amused, a tad ironic, a bit painful, and my head is shaking again, back and forth, voice matching his,

"Sometimes it doesn't feel like we are,"

He corks an eyebrow, and is quiet for a moment, then he ducks his head,

"I saw Rose yesterday, coming out of the forest, she looked pretty angry,"

I wince, before I can stop myself from doing so and he sees it, eyes reflecting the pain, just the glance of it, just the shard of it, and he nods, his smile a tad broken, voice mocking,

"Ahh, I thought you would have something to do with it…"

I don't respond, shoe nudging at another pebble, jaw tightening, hand grazing the wood of my wand, he observes those movements, and shakes his head, voice echoing in my head, as he goes on,

"You seem to leave a trail of pain wherever you go Jay, sometimes I wonder if that's a coincidence or just a talent of yours,"

This time I am ready for the wince and prevent it from showing in my eyes as it comes at me, I prevent it, because Fred is hitting a nerve, Fred is hitting the truth, and my voice shakes just a little,

"What are you implying?"

His grin slips, for just a second, and he falters and then there is a twist, deep in his eyes, it reminds me of betrayal, of a warning, he ducks his head,

"Do you think you are the only one James?"

I step forward, he doesn't move, I study him, his hands are in fists, but Fred is never angry, he ducks his head, eyes shining with a envy sick and sweet and heavy in the darkness, I lick my lips, voice soft,

"The only one? The only what?"

He steps closer,

"The only one they hunt Jay? Do you really think you are that special?"

I tilt my head, he follows the movement, his eyes become a maze, I am lost, they grow darker with each blink, and his grin holds a certain taint of the dead, as if smeared with the lipstick of death, death's kiss.

I arch a brow, voice deadly,

"Who hunts us?"

He glances around and lets out a soft laugh, and brings up a hand, placing it on chapped lips, his index finger up, voice mocking,

"Shhh James, they'll hear us, they can hear us best at night, and they are hunting right now, we are no longer the captures we are the prey, us Weasleys' and Potter's, and isn't it about time? I think it is."

I step closer, and we watch each other for a long moment. And then he ducks his head, and lets out his normal jolly laugh and grins at me, eyes wrinkling,

"Merlin James you actually look genuinely freaked out! I'm only telling ghost stories,"

He pauses, eyes finding mine,

"Right James? Its only stories, nothing to be scared of,"

I let out a laugh with him, but it isn't natural, it is forced, my eyes slightly narrowed, he punches me on the arm, friendly, but it sends a chill down my spine, for the first time his fist is not that of a friend, it is that of an enemy, but why? Its only stories and Fred has a hobby of trying to scare me, he always tells tall tales at night. Why is this different?

He backs up, eyes normal, but in the glint of the dark moon I can still see a wickedness, like a reflection in that gaze, his voice calls out to me,

"See I told you you were still a kid, kids get scared of ghost stories,

He looks me up and down, as if sizing me up, and then he grins,

"Want to hear a dad joke,"

I shake my head, eyes still trying to find his, but his gaze is everywhere but on me, he repeats the question louder, addressing all of us,

"Hey you lazy lot wanna hear a dad joke?"

Screams of horror and terror ensue, but I don't move, as Fred chases after my friends who flee with laughter, but the laughter sounds foreboding, and I can see Fred, getting on the train after Rose, while Sheila and I stood on the platform watching them leave, and I am taken back in time. Rose gets on. She looks back and smiles. Fred walks past me; I catch onto his sleeve, he grins, eyes on mine,

"Hey mate what's up?"

I remember the way he grinned, dimples forming, I remember grinning back, normal, natural, I remember asking,

"Where are you going,"

His dumb answer,

"Onto the train."

I remember faltering, just for a second, and glancing back as I went to Sheila and asking, voice soft, jokingly soft,

"Why? I can just apparate you to the party you know,"

I remember how he stopped, back to me, and how his stance shifted, just slightly, voice quieter,

"Its okay James, I rather standing on my own two feet, and doing as I please,"

I remember how I reached for his hand, his skin was hot, warm with life, but his eyes were cold when he turned back, I remember giving him a long look,

"What does that mean? I wasn't going to force you to go with me, I wouldn't,"

I remember how his eyes narrowed, just for a second and then he grinned and nodded, but as he was getting on the train I heard him call back,

"I wanted to talk to her, that's all, they told me to talk to her, about you, about us, I think it's a good idea if I get to know her, if she gets to trust me, since she will be very prominent in your life,"

I remember turning to him, eyes on him, I tilt my head to the side then too, voice soft,

"What?"

I can still see how he glanced back, grinning and shook his head,

"I'm quoting a history book I read, well kind of,"

I remember how the light was strong, the sun was bright, I remember how it disturbed me how the light blocked out his eyes, I couldn't see his eyes. I need to see their eyes if they are lying, a blink, and there the Fred I know was, before me, eyes honest, his voice joking,

"That joke blew right over your head idgit,"

The train started and he faded with smoke. No one but Rose got on that train that day. Only him. Only him. But I thought nothing of it, why think of it? Sometimes people get stressed and do weird things, Fred Weasley is no exception.

A hand on my arm causes me to tense, Fred grins as he reaches for me, laughing, voice high,

"Let me tell my joke Jay!"

He ducks his head and I step back, eyes confused, and he goes on, voice loud in the still night,

"You always take my side Jay, it's just what happens, take my side James, hm?"

There is a quiet, and we watch each other for a moment, and I shake my head voice still,

"I think it's unfair that I always take your side, don't you?"

He is quiet for a moment and then shakes his head, his voice even,

"No. It's what friends are supposed to do. We're friends, right Jay?"

I nod, slowly, and my voice matches his, a tad uncaring, a tad angry,

"What did you and Rose talk about on the train before Hermione's birthday party?"

He bites his lip, and ponders, and then his eyes light up, voice laughing,

"We talked about you."

I tilt my head, I can see the others coming towards us, gazes careful, they are just out of ear shot, and my words are hurried,

"What about me?"

He scrunches up his nose, and sticks his hands in his pockets, shaking his head,

"I can't really remember, nothing much,"

He pauses for a moment, and then smiles wide,

"Don't be jealous James, she is head over heels in love with you, just like the rest of the nation, the rest of the world, even her, even Rose BlackThorne fell under your spell,"

I let out a soft laugh, and shake my head, voice intimidating,

"You know what I hate most Fred?"

He arches a brow and nods,

"You hate betrayers and you hate liars,"

I nod with him, and my voice is deadly,

"And what does that mean to you?"

And for a moment I see a different Fred, a pained and broken Fred, and his voice is hurt, angry but still hurt,

"It means that you will threaten me until the day I am just like you, because that is how you work, it just isn't how I work."

Frank breaks the still, hand finding my shoulder, voice loud in the tension,

"I'm ready for that dad joke anytime now Fred."

He bites his lip and then grins wide, and taunts us with it, and it is back to normal, in just a second, in just a minute. And he laughs with us, he runs for us, chasing us as he begins to say it, and we cover our ears, screaming nonsense at each other, we skid on wet moss covered cobblestones, the moon shining above us, he chases me and I run away, hands going to cover my ears, eyes wide, he reaches to tickle me, and I let out a childish holler, breathless with the joy of just living, in this moment. In this life. With these people. And the glint is gone from his eyes. And I feel guilt, that I would ever doubt someone like Fred, someone I have dedicated my life too. Someone I would die for. I do not have fault judgement, no, just sometimes I forget that they have pain and suffering and hearts too, hearts I am supposed to care about, because that is what friends do.

Fred goes to tackle me, fingers brushing at my skin, and I grin back at him, teeth shining in the moonlight, voice laughing,

"No, no, no Fred, I swear, no!"

He chases after me, laughing, until we are caught up with the rest, and I fall into step with Lysander, who gives me a careful look and slings his hand over my shoulder, and Frank, who walks on his other side, sends me a tentative smile, eyes sad, and I can see Dom dancing in them, and I nod back to him, and he ducks his head, steps tired.

Fred loops his arm around Franks shoulder, and grins,

"Why did the coffee file a police report?"

I laugh as collective groans ensue, and Lorcan covers his ears, Frank, being the kinder of the bunch, asks timidly,

"Why Fred?"

Fred grins, cheeks bright red in the darkness, eyes grinning back at me,

"Because it got mugged,"

I splutter, and cover my face with my hands, head shaking, John claps, eyes coming alive,

"God how do we stick around such idiots, James Potter, the famous bad boy,"

I arch a brow, his gaze shifts,

"Fred Weasley, the idiotic dad,"

I roll my eyes and slap him over the head, and give him a foul look,

"Shut it Prewett, after all you are the stereotype of the jock, and that isn't a compliment,"

Lysander pinches my arm and shakes his head. It is known that John and I normally get pissed at each other, and butt heads. Something about how John never wanted to be a Chaser but wanted to be the seeker, like me, except a Quidditch team only has one seeker, and I am the best of the best, which just provides another reason for me to be full of myself, and egotistical, an excuse to admire my very cool self. Dom always said it best, "You are super cool, James Potter."

Fred rolls his eyes, lightening the mood with another joke,

"James, can you put my shoes on?"

I tilt my head and grin, I know this one, I gave him a book of dad jokes for Christmas as his present and read through it beforehand so I could play along when the time comes, because it would make him smile, not that I will ever tell anyone that I bothered reading a three thousand paged illustrated muggle comic book just so I could be prepared to answer this idiots questions. Cause that is just plain embarrassing.

I roll my eyes and answer,

"No, I don't think they'll fit,"

At that Lysander lets out a choked laugh, and John chuckles, my eyes find Franks, and his lips tip upwards, just a little, but it is enough. This is enough Rose. These boys and me are enough. You aren't a part of this enough.

Lysander lets out a sigh and looks around at us and grins,

"Should we howl at the moon, per tradition?"

Collective groans ensue and I shake my head, eyes wide,

"Hell no Scamander, that is beyond embarrassing-"

Frank breaks in with a random and rare smile, voice quiet,

"I'd like that, I'd like that a lot,"

I sigh and roll my eyes as John hops down and sticks his tongue out at me, voice mocking,

"You can't always get your way Potter, we are your friends, our job is to keep you on your toes and remind you of reality,"

I drag my feet as he pulls me towards the formation, voice groaning,

"And what is this strange thing called reality?"

He chuckles and shakes his head, hitting me over the head, as I duck Lysander's hand replaces his, and answers the question,

"That you are a stuck up rich kid with too much time and responsibility on your hands,"

I pretend to look hurt and he rolls his eyes, Frank lets out a soft snicker, voice quiet,

"Are we peer pressuring you James? Do you feel bullied?"

I nod, applauding him,

"Exactly so my friend, that is why we shall not do this horrid tradition,"

Frank smiles, and then lets it fall and gives me a long look, eyes pleading, I sigh and roll my shoulders back, head shaking,

"Fine let's do this."

The evening is spent like this. And at some point, without me realising the mask slips off, and hits the ground, and I am naturally grinning and I am sweaty and my blood is rushing, and we are young, doing stupid things like battling with garbage can lids, and pretending to be Merlin and the Black Family, enacting skits of family dinners, and what they must have been like, and then we are doubling over and laughing, and my eyes are tearing up, because this kind of moment is beautiful, and also cause Fred and his stupidly talented fingers won't stop tickling me.

And Fred, I watch him closely, and I can see it, a relief, that the James before him is not the James in front of the press. That this James is valued more than that. I like that about him, how he sees me as me, how he likes, how he rather's this me.

We apparate to the Manner. I open the doors with a bang and a grin, but it slips, there before me sits mom, in a large beige armchair, her eyes are closed, with tear stains tracing her face, and dark circles under her eyes, her head is propped on her arm, her glasses folded on the window sill, a candle with a dying flame dancing in its frame, the drapes are open, and no doubt she was gazing out, waiting for me, for Harry, for Albus to come home. Waiting alone in the big dark.

I feel Frank's eyes on me, and I look at him, and he gives me a reassuring look. He, like Fred, knows me well, so he is worried, and a little scared. He is concerned, he longs to comfort, but knows I will not let him get that close, simply because he cannot get that close. I cannot let him.

Fred disappears into the lounge and comes back with three or four blankets and kind eyes, he tosses them to me, I catch them, snatching them from the air, and stoop on bent knees, and unfold them, hands shaking so slightly, just a tremble, but I can see Lysander recognise it. Recognise a pain, a suffering, a scar that hasn't healed, that hasn't faded. His head tilts, and he comes closer, he kneels next to me, and takes the other blanket.

Lorcan joins us, and soon, it is us, six kids, six boys, who grew up with lemonade from this incredible woman, and lasagne, and tea, and crepes on Sundays, ice cream with sweat, and old Quidditch gear. It was her. My mom. Not just my mom, but the mom of us six. Ever since we couldn't walk, when we were toddlers.

I take her hand, her skin is cold, and it sends a shiver, just a tremor, and I can see Dom, skin ice cold, eyes empty. But then I blink, and it is like imagining things, because her skin is warm. Ginny Weasley is warm with her own fire. I stand from my bent pose and go to the fire, wand blinking, a swish, a murmur, and the flames light up the darkness, lion shadows dance on the walls in the flames royalty.

I stand and survey the scene, and I feel Frank's arm on my shoulder, his voice quiet,

"James, you okay mate?"

I close my eyes and feel my jaw tighten, my fists form. I am not okay. I want to scream it. To tell them that it is impossible to be okay after so much. But I am James. I am a Potter. And that comes first in priorities, it will always come first. Won't it?

I nod, and he lets out a sigh, or maybe a laugh, or maybe both, because it is ironic. This world is ironic. Dramatic Irony, because everyone, everyone but me knew that I was not okay, they just wanted to hear me say it, to see that I can be honest, I can be fair, I can be close, I can be human. But I didn't say I was okay, so a distance is formed. And it is cold. The distance is cold.

Fred grabs onto my hand, voice laughing, bright, trying to make my eyes come alive, to make me smile,

"Did you hear about the kid-napping at school?"

He waits for me to response, and I give him a, are you kidding me look, and he grins, answering himself,

"It's fine, he woke up,"

I roll my eyes, and chuckle softly, shaking my head. Frank shakes his head ever so slightly, eyes saying that this is not the right time for idiotic jokes.

Fred grins at me and then he stops. Eyes looking past me, and bumps me on the shoulder, and I turn, the grand room is filled with the bustle of my friends, I am surrounded by them.

But then there she is. On the stairs, Hogwarts robes on, hair long, eyes wide.

I can hear it. Her heartbeat, coming towards me, beating the rhythm of goodbye. She kissed me. Her lips tasted like honey. I love honey. But can I love her? Aren't I too young to know what love is? Who is this cautious, timid James, where is the rash, head strong boy, not the observant knowledgeable man. Not this person. The mirror is getting clouded. And work, saving the world, killing, torturing is taking up my breath. So I am breathless.

And there she comes, down the stair, hauling her trunk behind, she stumbles, falling down a step, and catching her balance. Hand on the railing, and lets out a sigh, she looks so helpless. Go help her James. I don't move. I watch her. Step by step she comes. Her hair is loose. It flows down her back, in waves, in lines, in golden rays. It is beautiful; her eyes hold a detached aura of invisibility. The collar of her blouse wilts, damp from a shower. I can see collarbones, chapped lips, high cheekbones. A defined face, that's looks soft to touch. But I didn't kiss her back. I didn't hold her. I stepped back, stumbling.

She makes her way to the last few steps, red carpet under black shoes. Her fingers are long, they graze the mahogany railing, the lion carved wood.

She makes it to the bottom, and pushes her hair behind her ear, eyes closed, and lets out a breath, and then those eyes open. And they see me, and I see it, recognition. Shame. Regret. Anger. She is angry. She has every right to be.

She ducks her head, and she is walking away, hair turning in the wind from the thrown open door, it whispers over her skin, eyelashes brushing her cheek, they are stunningly green. She is beautiful James. She is the definition of beauty. Her footsteps are earthquakes, and my world is shaking, I follow her, whispering something to Fred.

"Rose!"

She stops, trunk in one hand, robes in the other. I can see the navy blue and copper shine of a Hogwarts Ravenclaw emblem. Why did I call after her? It's because if she leaves it is my fault. It is on me. And then I have to be human, and be guilty, and beg. I hate begging. She stops and turns to face me, smiling softly,

"Don't James."

I grab onto her wrist, she is warm, she is perfect. No she is flawed. She shakes her head, and steps back, feet hitting ground, shoe soul on marble. It bangs, it clicks, it hits. And my eyes ask why, but my voice doesn't shake, I am stronger than that. She is just a girl, she cannot be worth more than that, because then what?

I raise my chin, eyes staring into hers, attempting to make her uncomfortable, but she does not flinch, my voice is quiet, kindling a rage,

"Why?"

She shakes her head, gaze steady, and I repeat the question, voice louder, building to a climax. To conflict.

"Why shouldn't I?"

She smiles, it is a sad smile, and her eyes dart across my face, her voice shakes,

"I am not a play thing that you can pick up when you are feeling forgiving, and leave behind when responsibility reminds you to."

She tares her wrist from my hand, and raises her chin to meet mine. And her eyes are steady, her voice is shaking, we are opposite. Aren't we? Weren't we? The past tense is suddenly needed, because this us was a we.

She steps back again, now she is the one retreating, it has become a game of hide and seek. And her eyes shine with the rage in mine. She is hurt James. You hurt her, you coward. Her voice matches mine. Emotion raging beneath each word,

"I am human James. But you put me on a pedestal and expected me to live up to these unrealistic expectations of perfection. Well I cannot. I am flawed. Embrace it."

My eyes dip shut. The Rose I lent my heart to was perfect, the Rose I gave up everything for was perfect. Perfectly imperfect. She was righteous, she didn't lie, she didn't keep secrets, she didn't yell at me. Not like this. No, yelling at me like this is degrading, it is stifling, it is killing.

I shake my head, voice rough, with emotion, a change has taken place. It is no longer even, my voice, and so I speak,

"You were not perfect. But you were not a liar, not about something so important, something so life changing."

She laughs, eyes shining with unshed tears, and lets out a breath,

"You can be hurt. You can yell at me. James, you can get rid of me, if you wish. But you cannot put me beneath you because of something I am not. I am not forgotten. Should every orphan be assumed to be a villain? Are you that childish?"

I am the one shaking my head, and my eyes dart everywhere but her. My voice rises like the wind,

"What I loved about you was how brave you were to just be you. To not hide behind a mask, like me. I liked that you weren't a hypocrite, when you lectured me to be myself, I liked that you were telling me to be more like you…"

I am shaking my head, hands trembling. My hands, James Potter's hands never tremble. My voice has come back to being even; maybe even a little mean,

"I do not like me Rose. I despise me. I wish I could be you. I wish I was that brave. But I am not. I am a child, acting the role of an adult."

I swallow. Hard. Eyes finding green.

"I wanted to be like you. But it turns out you are like me. And I am disappointed. That I was foolish."

She ducks her head, eyes scrunched closed. And her voice is a whisper,

"Why don't we talk about this when not so much is going on. When we can level our heads and lower our voices. Why don't we talk when we are more reasonable?"

She turns, without waiting or requiring an answer, and walks away, but I shake my head grabbing onto her shoulder and turning her.

We stand. Face to face. And she shakes her head, eyes looking past me. And she picks up the trunk, muscles groaning, and I stop her with words, broken, but strong words,

"Where are you going?"

She stops and looks back, eyes narrowed,

"To school James, back home."

I wince. Home. Because she doesn't have one. Because she is an orphan. Do something James. Change her world; tell her this can be her home, that everything that is yours is hers. But isn't that telling her she can live with me? And are we ready for that? This is a first for me. Wanting someone to stay, so bad that I would get on my knees. But she won't respect you if you get on your knees. And my words follow her,

"You don't need to leave, it's only been a month, and school will remind you of her, Rose, you don't need to go..."

She nods, eyes finding mine,

"You're right, I don't need to, but I want to. I am stuck in this big, empty house, and everywhere I look Dom stands, blaming me. I need to get away, I need to breathe."

She closes her eyes and whispers her last words softly,

"I want you to breathe. And I don't think you can breathe with me here, avoiding and watching and considering. You have work to do. And I respect that. Respect my decision and let me go."

I lower my eyes, she has a way of making a speech, of making a statement that makes your eyes close, that makes you rethink. Am I, James Potter rethinking? And somewhere in my head it says that she is the best thing that has ever happened. That she gets me, yes you, James, she gets you, so why are you standing here, and watching her leave, when she is that important.

You know things, what Scorpius gave you, if you tell her, it can change everything, because then she could stay. She would. She will not be forgotten, I promise it, I swear it, I understand it.

My voice holds a hollow sound,

"I am breathing Rose, just because we had a fight-"

She laughs and turns to face me, arching an eyebrow,

"We don't know each other James, everything happened so fast, and there is Scorp-I, I haven't talked to V in weeks, I've been taking up your time, I've been so confused. My priorities-"

She swallows and looks away, eyes lowered,

"My priorities have been you. I feel foolish James, I said I love you, I opened up my heart to you and got no reply."

I can see it, a hurt in her eyes, and she steps back eyes finding mine, shining with anger,

"You don't need to pretend anymore James; I am just another one, another girl, another play, another part of the mask. I feel stupid, I feel violated."

I close, my eyes and reach for her, and she steps back, eyes digging into me,

"That was my first kiss James, you were my first love, my first hug, my first flight into society, you were a first of a lot of things. But you are everyone's first."

I feel my hands go to my hair. She was your first James. She spoke your language when she kissed you, what words cannot say and actions can preach. She opened up, and she was scared, but she was brave, and she knew I could react like this, angry like this. Her voice is soft as she goes on,

"What do you know about me James? Tell me all that you know? And ask yourself if it is enough, enough to be like this? And if it isn't, realise that I must go, and when you come back, maybe when you do, you can ask me any question and I will answer, and we will go from there,"

I step forward, she does not move back. My voice is rough, her eyes are tormented seas.

"Then can I ask?"

She nods, eyes wide, nervous, innocent, my voice rings,

"What's your favourite food? What do you like to wear? Where do you want to go? Would you kiss me again? Can I kiss you? Can I forgive you? Is there anything I need to forgive you for? Are you okay?"

I can see her eyes glisten with unshed hopes. And I repeat it, voice trembling,

"Can I forgive you Rose?"

She steps closer and whispers it,

"That is not up to me. It is up to you…"

We are silent for minutes. Until it becomes awkward. It has never been awkward before. She laughs again, eyes lowered,

"James you are on top of the world, you sit on a table that influences everyone's future, you are full of lies, from your age, to your personality, to your job, to your relationships."

I can feel the air sucking in between my lips, a hiss, my hands shaking, she goes on,

"You don't use your power to your advantage, you do nothing but play, act like a fool, date the hottest girls, and beat up the biggest thugs, your life is so unimportant, and you choose to be that unimportant."

My lips part, and I am angry too, I wish she knew how angry I am, how easy it is to direct that anger towards her, to beat her down with it, to kill her with it. I am angry at McGonagall for telling me it would be okay, I am angry at my dad for not letting me vote, I am angry at Albus for leaving us behind, I am angry at our nation, I am angry at the forgotten, I am angry at Rose, and most of all, on top of it all, I am angry at ME. I am angry at James Sirius Potter.

My voice breaks as I speak,

"Rose-"

She cuts in, going onwards,

"I do not dislike you for the mask, the act, the way you hide yourself, I do not judge you for your crazy way of life, for Sheila, or, or the other girls, I just wish with me you could be you. And sometimes when I blink I can see you, and you are you, but not forever, it never lasts that long."

I step back and my voice is a whisper. Why am I so darn vulnerable around her? It doesn't make sense. I was strongest around Sheila, around the others. Why does she make me weak? She waits for me to speak. I say nothing. So we wait some more. And eventually I reach for her Ravenclaw robes and walk behind her, taking her hands and slipping them up her arms, and onto her shoulders. I walk to face her, and fix her collar eyes never leaving hers. My voice is angry, still, but it is also realizing, learning.

"Wish me luck Rose; I am about to face the whole world, and make decisions that shape it. Wish me luck."

She smiles, and ducks her head, shaking it back and forth, voice amused,

"No James, I will wish you luck on the day that I get to go to that room with you, as your equal mentally, emotionally, financially and employed on the same level."

She smiles up at me. And nods her head, her hand finds mine, and there is an unspoken forgiveness, an unspoken future, an unspoken understanding that we must breathe for a moment learn from each other, that we must go back to our respective lives for now. I give her delicate fingers a squeeze, weaving our fingers together. Forgiveness. She sees it, and so do I.

Her voice is a whisper,

"You are a rageful, teenage, hormone driven idiot, but you are my idiot…"

I step closer, eyes finding hers and my voice carries so much more than words,

"Is it lonely Rose, having no one permanently?"

A tear falls, clear, and she doesn't wipe it away, for the first time she is proud, completely, and utterly of who she is, and her answer causes me to shiver,

"Is it lonely James, wearing a mask?"

She turns, hair falling over her shoulder, stepping into the fire place, hand grabbing the green dust, flu powder, and I watch her turn into green, emerald flames, disappearing to smoke and ash. The tear burns to ash, and she is gone, far, far away to King Cross Station, back against the dirty wall, legs splayed on pavement, and then through the wall, Platform 9 ¾ and there, she sits on a train, fire engine red, face pressed to a clouded window, in an empty compartment, on an empty train, in an empty world, in an empty heart, with empty eyes.

I watch her leave and let out a shaky breath, Fred hugs me, arms warm, Frank turns on some music, John takes out his wand and flicks open the pantry, grabbing Butterbeer and ale, desserts, delicacies, and a couple pizzas, Lysander leads the way, up and up, to our hide out, the roof. He accio's our brooms, and the music drowns out the pain, the loss of life. We are shouting to the moon, to the stars, practicing flips in the air eyes shining with the beauty of life.

I pauses in the night sky, a bottle of Butterbeer clasped in one hand, head tilted back admiring Rose and I's star, Frank joins me, broom whispering in the wind, and gives me a long look, voice soft,

"We are far away from everyone, so you can tell me you are not okay James, we are far away from the world, I don't judge, think of me like a mirror or a wall, go for it,"

I glance at him, and let out a soft chuckle,

"What do you mean, I'm fine?"

He arches an eyebrow,

"That sounded like a question James, not an answer."

I let out a breath, and look down at the ground spinning beneath us and sigh, taking a swig of the buttery drink, it smooths down my throat. We are silent for a moment. Then he goes on, voice soft,

"Did you love her James?"

I stare at him and duck my head,

"I don't know what love is. But I think so, well, my heart hurts, and if that is love it is quite an unpleasant feeling,"

At that he laughs, and pats me on the back, eyes finding mine,

"My heart hurts too Jay, it hurts for Dom, it hurts for her, and I keep asking myself if I loved her, or if I pity her, or feel guilty for her,"

I lick my lips, teeth on teeth, voice interested, kind, considerate,

"Which one do you think it is?"

He gives me a long look and shakes his head,

"I can't decide."

We are still and then he states, voice broken,

"Don't be okay, you are not a robot, you are not required to be okay, we are hundreds of feet in the air James, no one can hear you, you can cry, and scream and be angry, rage, if you have to, but don't keep it in,"

I feel my eyes close, and my voice shakes, he hears it,

"Do you think you know me Frank? Like really know me?"

His gaze is steady and he nods, lips tilting up a little, voice tender,

"Yes. I know you very well James."

I stare at him and shake my head, voice broken,

"That's not possible, because, because I don't even know me, so how could you?"

He shakes his head, voice soft,

"I know the James in the public eye and the James here, I know the James who is strong for others and the James that is dying inside, I know when you are real and when you are faking and I know all this because I care. We care."

I duck my head, voice choked,

"About what?"

He smiles soft, hand on my shoulder,

"About you."

I blink and I feel something wet on my cheek, a stirring in my chest and he smiles, scooting his broom closer and loops an arm over my shoulder, voice soft,

"You get to be sad too, and angry too, I don't judge and neither do the stars."

I glance at him and then I laugh, loud, broken, raging, and my voice screams it,

"I HATE IT. I want to live, I want to live without looking at my friends and suspecting that they will betray me, I want to fall in love without it being complicated, I want to rule the world without strings, I want to have a family without power, I want and I want and I never get."

He removes his arm and nods, head bowed,

"People think that being up here, with the riches and golds, that we have no complaints, that we have everything, and we do, but it is not enough, because everything still lacks something,"

I sigh and tilt my head back, the tear is warm in the cold and I shake my head, vice breaking,

"I saved a life today."

He gives me a sharp look, voice intense,

"Who?"

I shake my head, voice cracking ever so slightly,

"I saved a life but only because I would get something in return,"

He nods his head slowly and looks back up to the stars, voice melancholy,

"What did you get?"

I laugh, dark, angry, tense, twisted, words pouring,

"Information, valuable, worth a thousand lives, because that is how I think Frank, I calculate the worth of a life, something that should have no value on it,"

He says nothing, and I go on voice rigid,

"I would not have saved her life if it did not benefit me. What does that make me? Huh?"

He is silent, and in his silence I see him thinking, considering what to say next and when he does speak his voice is soft,

"It is not too late James, you can come back with us, to Hogwarts, you can ignore it, it is never too late, understand?"

I meet his eyes, and I can see it, Hogwarts, Roses' home, my childhood friends, the lake, summer time bikinis, and ice cream, days in the sun, eyes shining, and I feel a chill, a chill of sadness, a chill of dreams.

I smile at him, a broken smile and survey the boys beneath us, screaming at each other, getting ready to do fireworks, and I shake my head, voice soft,

"I am full of lies Frank, I am trying to remember the last truth I told and I cannot."

He smiles and pats my back,

"I can remember, it was only five minutes ago you told me that you saved Scorpius' Malfoys mother, that was the truth, even if it is a broken truth it is worth saving,"

I give him a startled look and he smiles slow,

"It's all over the news you idiot, that she went home an hour after you left, tons of rumours about how you can do magic that defies the laws, and you can, can't you?"

I look down at my hands and I can feel the mask coming back, but just before it does he grabs onto my hand and grins, wide, he has not grinned since Dom was alive, since the party, the Valentine's party, his voice cuts into me, words kind, sharp, meaning to find my heart, or what is left of it,

"James the show can go on without you, the world does not crash to a halt if you are not at the wheel, but us, your friends, we need you, you are our leader, our family, our brother, and we know you. We know you better than you know you, and we are here, don't push us away, understand? Because you need us just as much, because we are enough, we have always been enough."

I stare at him, and I see his grin slip a little and he sighs, head ducking, voice musical,

"Was that too sappy for James Potter, sometimes I forget that you don't like when people speak with their hearts, commitment has always scared you, but you are not scared James, you are just lonely, that's all, but we can remedy that, right?"

I smile, slow, a little softer than before, a little more timid and I laugh, real, it sounds nice, it sounds solid, it sounds different, I like it, the sound of it, the sound of reality, and he recognises it too and the grin spreads to his eyes, and his voice is laughing, at himself, maybe at me, maybe at the irony of living, that works too,

"Let's shake the world, but together, and they will applaud and we will wave, and we will be legends James, in our own right, just not yet, lets grow up a little more, hmm?"

I nod my head, and in that moment I would like you to know that I did plan to go back to Hogwarts and love the Ravenclaw queen, and support my brother and win the Quidditch world cup, but that would be a boring, stereotypical life, a plot that lacks, so I didn't go, not that day, and not the day after. But I will not forget that feeling, hope, white and searing hope.

Because I could see it, in our smiles, and the liquor, and the light of the stars exploding and the spells, and the little fairies that danced to the music, the hum of the melody in my bloodstream, tears of joy on our cheeks, and when we fell asleep, all in a heap on the floor the feeling of my mom tucking us in, blankets carried up to the roof top, her smile, her anger as she saw the mess, it was one of those moments that I could be a teenager, not a kid, but a friend, a brother, a son.

It didn't last. Nothing ever does, but at that time I hadn't learned that yet. And that us, James, Fred, John, Lysander, Lorcan and Frank, us six were going to be legends, but not in the way we wanted with glorified awards and cheering, no, in a sickly, twisted way that spoke volumes of who we were. And that a red head was second guessing everything. And that John didn't fall asleep that night but watched me, eyes sad. And Frank, his dreams clouded with nightmares of a dead body on the pavement, sat up and watched us too, watched John watch me, and Fred just sit, eyes lost in a darkness we don't yet understand.

Lysander and Lorcan slept, they snored too, so much so that I had to dunk them in maple syrup when they woke up, a pro of having a wand and an Accio spell, and a huge bathtub, or maybe just a pro of friendship, cause we all ended up in the bloody maple syrup, which caused darling mum to scream at me for a good 30 seconds before she joined us, laughing her head off. It was nice to hear her laugh. Moments like this are rare. That's why I am focusing on it. Because they last longer in our memory than the sad ones, these moments last forever, and no one but my friends and my mom were there, it is a moment the press, the crowd, the audience, the world won't ever know about. It is a hidden moment, and therefore it has more value.

Then I got the call. Teddy and Andrew appeared. By then I had washed off the sticky substance. Their faces were grave, they didn't smile. And the mask came back, it had almost grown dusty on the shelf, but not long enough for it to get spider webs, and the meeting was set. And the date was carved, and the team was assembled and the dagger came with me, and the wand was cold. And they went to Hogwarts, and Frank, just before stepping into the green flames, took my hand his voice a lullaby,

"Don't be lonely James, we are by your side, always, and maybe next time you'll come with us, I'd like that, wouldn't you?"

A long look. And they are gone, landing at the train station, through the wall, and they laugh, now five, missing the sixth dark haired boy with the golden eyes, and they miss me, and I miss them, and that's just how it works. We miss each other. It's how it always works. They are miles away now. And Frank looks out the window, eyes searching dark trees, Fred examines his fingers, and John smiles, and it has meaning. Everything does.

They arrive and V greets them, she smiles, and Rose is there, in the background, eyes searching the crowded platform, and I can see, if I close my eyes, how disappointed she is, was, and she lowers her head, and goes back up the steps. Because the Gryffindor Quidditch captain isn't there. And she wonders why she looked, why she waited, what's the point. I am not reliable, the night comes. She stays up in the Ravenclaw dorm room, eyes clouded, she is silent, she is remembering, she wonders. She is good at wondering.

The boys fill into the dorm rooms, one bed stays empty. Fred stops. He stares at it, and Lorcan stops with him, and they look at the unrumpled sheets, and the name engraved, and they find it funny, because there was a time, not too long ago we would all crowd onto that bed every night and play stupid games, laughing until our stomachs hurt, and then rushing across the room in a desperate flee as Filch checked to see if we were asleep. And it matters. Because I am not there. And we think, they think when will he be back? Isn't it exhausting, having a friend, a brother who is never there for you, not permanently. So maybe we can switch up the lines Rose. Why are you lonely? And why do I have no one who is permanent? Who do we blame? Them or ourselves? And that brings it down to the question of if we are cowards or warriors, and I can't answer. Can you?

There are six. There are seven. There is one darkness. There is one forgotten. 2 knives. 13 wands. One James Potter. One Teddy Lupin. Talons on Walls. There are many tall shadows. There is a poly juice potion. There are heartbeats, 13 of them. And one heart full of souls. And one chill. One terror. One night.

The alleyway is dark, I can feel the stir of the wind, the temperature, the cold, it is below freezing, 15 F. There is a scraping, finger nails on cobblestone, laughter in the distance. 4 steps forward, calculated, each step is an advance, each time our breath leaves our lungs is a defence, we are silent. Six of the most dangerous people in the world in one alleyway. Our wands are clutched in blue fingers. I can feel it, the hair rising on our necks in anticipation. We are waiting for the moment we jump.

And somewhere in the distance is a child's snicker, she finds it funny, she can see it all, it is her masterpiece and she is laughing, because we are fools, and in the six of us, there is a forgotten, and I am a fool, as I take his hand, one step forward. We are the captures and they are the prey, the irony is the prey have monsters on their sides, monsters that like the night, that come for us, that have already found us. Monsters who were born to kill me. That's what they are supposed to do. The night is fresh. The wind is cold, the ice is coming, the whistle echoes, the feet scrape, we count the seconds, the bead of sweet sweat hits the pavement, we move onwards.

It emerges, talon scraping cobblestone, eyes slits, blood dripping, it picks up the droplet of salty perspiration, it tastes it, finger going to its tongue, eyes rolling, it desires more. It needs it. So it comes. A step behind, so we track the prey, and they prey's dogs hunt us, and it is a wild game of survival, no one wins, no one loses, it is a mindless maze, and the shadows have faces.

Are we the hunters or are we the prey? There is no escape from a maze, not if you are already in it, not if their eyes watch the hair on the back of your neck rise, not if wands are useless, not if death is pointless, not if life is worthless. For what value is life if you can trust no one, if everyone is your enemy than there is no escape, no one to live for, and the lies are stacking, and the monsters are calling in their debts, and chess is a game they know well, and they need more. Of what? Us. Potters. And here I am, stalked on soft foot, one foot, two feet, they look just like us, except we have forgotten what they look like, so they are blurred, they are the darkness, they are the chill. They are winter and they are spring and they are hunting, and they are hungry.

Beneath us, far below, as if rats crawling in hell, they walk, four men, three women. Seven in total. Their robes are black, like the night, and the lack of moon conceals their faces in brewing shadows. The ice in the wind causes the capes to take to the air, rising with each gust. I can see wands, on the taller woman with the red hair I can see a knife, lined in copper. Her eyes are a startlingly black. Like holes, pits of corruption. Their sleeves are long, pinned in place, but if I close my eyes I can see serpents liking skulls dead bone rippling on coarse skin, just beneath that thin protection.

We creep with them, on the roofs, dressed like them, in all black, with charms and curses warding ourselves so that we are like darkness, so that darkness and I could be confused as one in the same. And maybe we are. One in the same.

Feet scrape ground, our breath is hot, the stars have an empty look, disappearing into darkness, as if not there. They are Death Eaters. I can smell the stench of burnt flesh and alcohol, a whiff of poison, but most of all I can smell Poly juice Potion, it brews in the air, and we crouch lower, my hand goes up, a gesture for us six to stop.

We hang to the walls, and watch their steps halt, eyes wide, they survey the world, the walls, the roof, and then they relax, shoulders rolling back, and their faces morph, their skin disappearing, their hair shrinking and growing, bones crack, loud in the night like gun fire, Poly Juice Potion is a draught that causes the person who drinks it to change, and form the mirrored physical characteristics of whoever's hair they placed in the potion.

It was late at night, around midnight I got the call from Teddy, saying that goblins were found, seven of them, killed, important goblins, that are in charge of the vaults, in Gringotts, the bank, and in those vaults are Black Family treasures, ranging from curses, personal notes written in blood from Bellatrix to Tom, evidence that Bella killed her first husband, Mr. Lestrange. Information on Andromeda, eloping, spells Voldemort was creating. Family secrets.

You must understand, pure blood families, they are royalty, or at least they think they are. The Death Eaters, any Death Eater values their relics over many things, including life, and being careful. And the Black Family, is a family of legends, who will live forever, through pages and love notes written from the vein.

I arch a brow; they shrink in size till the robes pool on the ground in puddles of darkness on grimy cobblestones. Hair becoming grey, kin crinkled, noses long, ears pointed, finger nails arching into talons, toes short, feet long, hair sprouting on arms, legs, foreheads.

It is illegal to use the Poly Juice Potion without predetermined permission from the Ministry. There is a long line of squibs, and ugly women and men alike who stand, waiting for approval. I resist the urge of reminding these idiots of that law, and that line.

They turn right, the shorter woman with blonde hair, thinned out, is wearing heels, now too big, I hear her miss a step. We turn with them, flying through the air, feet hitting the roof ledge, hands taught as we pull ourselves over the edge, cartwheeling to a crouch.

There is a difference between the training room and here. Here we could die. Here we can kill. Here there are more possibilities than I would like to imagine. But the adrenaline, it is addicting, my blood soars in my veins, my blood drowns sorrows, stolen kisses, hospital beds, and secrets. Here I have one task. Capture. Hurt. Learn.

Teddy's eyes find mine and I see something else in them, no, someone else in them, and it is like a shadow, just a blink, but still there, it is a girl, a lonely girl and she is staring back and she laughs, her mouth is bloody, Teddy gives me a long look and then blinks, stepping to the front as planned, and I watch him, head tilted to the side, and somewhere a mile or so behind us the girl laughs, because she thinks I am an idiot, a fool, and she is right, because its Teddy, and of course I trust him, he is like a father to me, a brother to me, family to me, why wouldn't I? Never before do we value things like who is on top, and who is an orphan, and we don't think, because we trust and trust is blinding. He gestures for me to walk with him and I do, because we've done this for years, this is what we always do.

They are walking faster, little hands clutching at their dripping cloaks, dragging the cloth behind them, as it whispers on the ground, eyes scanning the roofs, we are slipping through the air, and the wand is replaced. My favourite weapon, a knife, thin, long, not flashy, no it is only in books where the knives are encrusted with jewels, here, if the knife had rubies and sapphires it would be the sun, and the slightest gleam of gold, mineral, expense is caught, and then sirens go off in the preys head, and they run, and run.

I watch them stumble, eyes wide; they are going to a meeting place, to get clothing, disguises. I grin, not today you aren't. I flick my wand, and play their minds, a nifty spell, Illusion is a weapon that is better than any, for they are fooled into thinking it is real, when it isn't. Of course it isn't. In their mind the streets change, everything is mirrored, opposite, Knockturn Alley becomes a maze of regret, and they stumble through it.

Teddy is ahead of me, he turns back, eyes gleaming red, pupils dilated. And again I hear it, a whistle, a haunting tune, a whisper, a flash of anger in those orbs, and then he is falling, rushing through the air. I watch him go, I blink, gone. We are brothers; he grew up in my home, in my life, with me. He has been there since day one, he baby sited me when I couldn't walk. He baby sited me when I couldn't talk. Now I can talk, and run, and kill. Beside him. After all isn't that what brothers do?

He grins, and I see the hunger for vengeance, for Dom reflected in his eyes as they are in mine, the hunt has just begun, and we are going in for the kill.

It is rare that us Aurors are sent out as Assassins, as Kidnappers, we are normally, well, to dumb it down, spies, we gather information, magic, spells, secrets, and we report back, to the minister of defence, the D.A, and Azkaban.

Today we are kidnappers, Kalaysha Ebony, red hair batting like flames, owes us something. We cling to the walls; the cobblestones and I are one. Confusion rises in their eyes, and I gesture with my hand, and they hop down, shrouded in invisibility, three, they are older than I am, experienced, their hands are steady, they surround, right foot in front of left, feet soft, breath on the necks of the small creatures.

And I look to Teddy, he nods, flicks his wand, and the mist descends, mirroring the smoke of apparition, of disappearing, my wand works with Teddy's, the smoke swirls, around six of the awaiting traitors, I weave the particles of air to create masked invisibility, and Andrew, behind me, whispers the spell, and just for a brief moment, 10 seconds, silence descends, it is like the sound is sucked out of us, like a vacuum. The whistle remains, haunting the darkness and I survey the streets, eyes searching, the shadows seem to move, the darkness seems to laugh, it mocks me, James focus. I do.

Just enough time, hands looped around both arms, trapping the six victims in a lock, boom, six blows, hard, to the head, bodies falling, mist fading, 5 more seconds, they grab onto them, each Auror takes two, and a flash, and they disappear in the white smoke, apparating away. Gone.

Kalaysha looks around. Eyes wide, and I am already moving, creating as I go, heart in my throat, she blinks, eyes closed, and I take action in that second. Just a second. Just enough.

Sound comes back, everything is in flashes, the illusion crashes to a halt, and my mind and wand are working in seconds, in beats, she blinks, her eyes are closed, the last one, the important one, 3 seconds, the air hisses, the mist is fading, and I reconstruct, memorizing each detail previous, until a faded image of darkness stands before her. The last Death Eater in the darkened alleyway.

I create the safe haven they were searching for, the clothing they need, the props, the glasses, replacements of wands, just what she wants. Safety. She craves it. She needs to be safe. It makes sense, everyone wants security. Even if it is not real your mind will convince that it has to be, so you depend on it, its reality.

Fooling people is simple. People crave that sense of security. You make them feel at home, safe, calm. Then they let their guard down. And she can find a logical conclusion; she can find a logical explanation. And logic is enough to keep her going. Logic is enough to keep us all going. Her mind turns to the only plausible explanation, that the other death eaters got their disguises and apparated away, leaving her behind to retrieve hers and follow.

She stands alone and her eyes look up, Teddy is already descending robes black like a blanket of death. The air whispers by him, and I can see a darkness in his eyes, but he does his job, and I don't doubt him, why should I? He is Teddy after all, doubting him is counterproductive.

His eyes change colour, and in a split second, two things happen. She yells it, Avada Kedavra, but her wand is gone, my hand snatches it from the air, the knife is pocketed by Andrew, who crouches behind her, Teddy grabs onto her wrists and they disappear in a swirl of black and white mist.

Teddy grins at me as they apparate away. Back to the D.A. Back to safety. But we are not safe. No Andrew and I are stuck in the darkness, crouched. The whistle stops. The silence descends. Teddy is gone. The silence is too quiet, the silence is deadly.

Heavy breathing. We stand eyes on each other. And I can hear it. The silence is whispering to me to run, to get out now, now James. But I grin, I am not afraid of the silence, of the darkness. Again I am a fool.

Andrew gives me a long look, perhaps wishing me luck, perhaps telling me to not get too caught up in it, the blood lust and groans, eyes shining with excitement. His voice is soft,

"Everything happens so fast; I swear the adrenaline takes weeks to get off of,"

I nod my head, collapsing against the wall, voice quiet,

"It makes me angry, and happy, and excited, god have mercy, I love it,"

He chuckles, eyes sympathetic,

"We may not be in a war, but this, this is an equivalent,"

I nod again, gaze shaky.

And then I hear it. It is a whimper. Like the whimper of a hurt animal, it comes from behind me, in front of me, everywhere. It rises in volume with the wind and lowers with my heart rate. It crawls into my head; it is the monster that creeps in the shadows.

The darkness grows, the shadows have faces, a thousand faces, but I have forgotten what those faces look like, they are familiar, but I cannot remember their names, who are they? The alleyway is narrow, my heartbeat is loud. The moon is dark. Somewhere, off in the distance Rose BlackThorne wakes up screaming. Teddy lands at the D.A, eyes normal, the intruder in his mind gone. And common sense is delusional, because they are everywhere.

They prey are captured, but they were never the prey, they were the decoy, the rats in the lab, vermin sent to catch our sent, and now their masters are coming, and it is a hum, a hum of adrenaline, and I can sense it. I can see it. Faces. Skin. And the sound.

I can hear the nails on the walls, I can see eyes gleaming, and then bare feet, slapping cobblestones, running, desperately, I can hear choked screams, and a loud sound, an eerie sound, it's my mom's lullaby, she sang to me when I was a child, it murmurs on the wind, it is her voice, it is her face, don't forget her face James, her face is important, her skin was cold, the night is early, the shadows are long, Dom is dead, the wind sings her song,

"Above black eagles wheeling,

All of a sudden swooping,

My little baby stealing,

Sleep, little baby, sleep."

I know those words, I hum the tune and Andrew, he hums something else, he hears something else, a different sound. They are around us, and somewhere the illusionist recognises the illusion, but it is impossible to break free, I can hear Rose laughing, it sounds broken, it sounds fake, but it is real, for how else would she laugh?

My eyes are closing; I can see Dom, lying still, her eyes wide open, mouth agape, dripping red, everything is crimson. The steps are faster, my pulse is picking up, the wind is cold, they are coming. I can tell. Another verse descends, it echoes off of the walls, it echoes on the streets, it beats to my pulse, the rhythm beats to me.

"Above black eagles soaring,

A crown of pearls left lying,

Your father was snoring.

Sleep, little baby, sleep."

I can see my mom smiling, she sang it to Teddy, she said Tonks had dark humour, that she found it a sad lullaby, of horror and gore, that it was sung to her by Andromeda, and sung to Andromeda by Bellatrix, and that it was a Black tradition. Teddy is the only living Black. Teddy is the only living Black. His parents are dead. Think James why does that matter? Why does it matter that they are dead? If they are dead, what does that make him? Huh? If someone has no parents, no family,

Roses' voice,

"What does that make me?"

Boom.

Nails scrape cobblestone, my eyes are shut, James, hold on to yourself, James breathe, James you need to steady your breath, you are choking on sentiment, you know what is coming, you can tell, you know it well. Death is coming James. Open your eyes. Death is here.

The feet are loud. Boom. Boom. Boom. A child is laughing, it sounds like it is tears, and there are yells, everyone was always yelling, my back hits the cobblestones, the feet are louder, another verse, it whispers, it consumes, it eats me alive, my hands go to cover my ears, I am screaming, but it makes no sound, screaming at Andrew to cover his ears, or he will go insane, he will believe it. I rip my clothes off, hands trembling, I go to stuff the cotton in my ears but it drops, I am trembling. Get a grip James. James you fear nothing. Remember that. James you fear no one. Remember that.

The voice is mocking,

"Above black eagles flying,

My little baby clutching,

And all the world a-spying,

Sleep, little baby, sleep."

I can feel my mind shutting down, my lids are heavy, I am tired suddenly, bone weary, nails scrape the walls, skin transparent, cold breath, empty eyes, their skin is lifeless, my mom's skin was cold, it is a maze, the walls are closing in, I can't see, I need to see, Andrew is on the floor, hand clutching his stomach, he is coughing up blood, mom is waiting by the window, she is waiting for me to come home, come home James, she is tired too. The voice is laughing at me, the feet are multiple, it is an army, everything is so confused. Scrape, hit, my feet are dripping red, I need to run but my footprints are crimson, the blood rises, it is warm, it is me, it is pulling me down. Breathe.

I am drowning in it. Andrew screams, eyes wide, his pupils roll back into his head. I can see the walls, crashing inwards, Rose is there, her eyes are green, but they have a darkness, a twisted hate, they are like Fred's eyes. They are like Teddy's eyes. They are like my eyes. And then they are my eyes.

The voice is laughing, the voice is like the wind, the head is tilted, it is turning the corner, it can see us, run, run, run. It tilts its head. It grins. It arches a brow. It gives me ten seconds. Childs hands held up, counting down, one, the thumb descends, the voice sings, the child's lips don't move,

"Above black birds ascending,

My baby's flesh a-rending,

And all the world attending.

Sleep, little baby, sleep."

Two, index finger, Andrew collapses, his wand skids on the pavement, the red pavement, and a hand, reaches up from the crack and reaches for it, its fingers are claws, its lips are blue, its tongue is red, it is transparent, like glass, but it has more secrets than all of us.

And then I hear it. Silence. It is blinding. I cannot see my hands, logic James, calm James; it is an illusion, get the hell out of there James, move, run, ready, James? James? Where are you? Cover your eyes, plug your ears, bite your tongue, they can control it all. Shut down your sense, trust your instinct. But Teddy. I trusted him. What is this? What is this?

My eyes open. The stars are gone. The walls are red. The knife hits the ground. It skids on the pavement. Andrew stands. His lips are dark black. My hand trembles. The wand is cold. The wind has stopped.

It is a whistle, eerie, dark, formed by the lips of the innocent, it sings a broken tune, she is crawling. It is crawling.

Out of the shadows comes a little girl. She must just be seven. She is crawling, hands clawing at the ground, her lips mouth words, and I can hear them, echoing,

"Your out of time and I am hungry."

I can feel it, the need to help her, to feed her, to give her anything she wants, but this is an illusion to, to give you that security. That false hope. Her eyes, it is always the eyes that give them away first. That give everyone away first. Eyes don't change. They stay the same no matter what magic you do. No matter what illusion, spell or potion you drink, your eyes stay the same.

She coughs, her hand is red with blood, blood from her lips, from her lungs, voice soft, like the lullaby it makes me tired,

"Bread. I want bread. I'm so hungry. I'm so hungry."

I can see Andrew moving to walk forward, but then she looks up. It is chilling. The air changes to a cold that breaks my bones. Her eyes are empty and she is smiling. Wide. Her teeth are black, her throat is black, her eyes are happy. I can see blood, it pools on her tongue.

She is chewing on something. A bone. It has a nail. A fingernail.

Her teeth are red. Red with blood. With carnage. And she stares at me, and grins, voice even,

"I want more."

I am frozen. The seconds are long. Everything is slow.

The creature stands, head tilted to the side, mutating.

I can feel my heart beat. Its' rare I feel my heart beat. They are working together. The death eaters are not coming because the forgotten are already here. And I can sense it. Death is laughing and fate is on the tip of its seat, head cocked, waiting for a reaction, to see if I have any strength, anything to live for, something to die for. Nothing for nothing.

Andrew steps forward voice soft,

"Are you okay, little girl, are you hungry?"

She stares up at him, eyes round, why can't he see the blood? Is he blind, Andrew why can't you see? I blink, the blood curls in on itself, disappearing, and she grins wider, her teeth flash and one moment they are sharp and the other they are white. There are hands, on my back, a finger crawling up my spine, the finger in her mouth on my neck, the finger in her mouth down her throat.

She giggles, head thrown back, and her eyes glue to mine, voice sickly,

"I'm lonely,"

He tilts his head,

"Why?"

A tear falls, it is red. Dom cried red tears. Everything is too fast. I bend down, my hand finds Andrew's wand and mine. The dagger is forgotten. This is a game of survival, if you make a wrong move you will be dead, so don't make a wrong move. Got it? Don't do it James. Careful James. Calculated James. Calm James. Collected James. And those are only the C's.

She giggles as she sobs, and I am lost, her eyes are green, in them I see meadows, I see everything, I see me. A breath, she whimpers,

"Because they forgot to love me, they forgot to keep me, they forgot to name me,"

Another step. My finger ticks, I count the seconds, I count the minutes, my hand inches forward, I catch onto Andrew's sleeve. His voice is hollow, horrified,

"Who forgot?"

The girl stands, and rises with each step, skin becoming transparent, talons growing, and she grins, I can see through her, to the wall, her clothes disappear to ash, her eyes roll back, her lips crack, her veins are memories, her teeth are black, her tongue is red, her eyes are clear, her heart is a cage of bone, I can see Dom's soul in it, she is screaming, she is tortured, she is dead. They killed her. They killed her.

One.

Her tongue runs over her lips, she spits the finger onto the ground, on it I can see a wedding band, a shiver.

Two.

A step forward. A talon scrapes the wall; it leaves behind a trace of blood. Dark blood.

Three.

Andrew leans forward, eyes wide, my fingers clench, a fist, the wand rises,

Four.

She tilts her head, grinning, teeth flashing black, and her eyes they change, they are green, and in them I see Meadows, me and Rose, running with wolves.

Five.

Her lips part. He repeats the question.

"Who forgot?"

A blink, a step, a second, a voice, malice, rage, eyes on mine, she says,

"Everyone."

I grab onto Andrews arm, fingers digging into flesh, and we are spinning away, my feet hit the ground, we are running, I can hear her laugh, my breath shakes, he screams at me, his voice is high, I have no idea why he can't see her, I wonder what he sees instead of the monster, we round the corner, a dead end.

I skid to a halt, and turn, she walks towards us, and shakes her head, back and forth, her voice drips with sarcasm, drips with blood.

"I'm so hungry Harry, Harry I'm starving,"

Boom.

She is feet away, my mind is blank, I cannot kill her. She won't die.

I close my eyes, pulling Andrew close to me, but he reaches for her, hands clawing at me, I watch fingers curve around talons. Blink.

I apparate. The wind rises around us, clouding around me, I can hear the sound of breaking bone. I can smell fresh blood. The world spins by us, blurred, cold, the wind rises and turns and screams, my wand is warm, Dom is dead.

I can see the destination; we are heading for the Ministry. For the D.A. Seconds pass, we don't have a minute, think James, fix this.

The forgotten leans forward, eyes on me, and kisses Andrew staining his lips red as two men and a monster, or maybe two monsters and a man swirl through time, through space, defying gravity. I drop his wand. It hits the Ministry steps. Seconds. Not a minute, not enough. You cannot stop an apparition. I thought of safety. The D.A, my father, Aurors is safety. But it is suicide.

My wand raises, my eyes close, a scream the spell, no use, but why not try?

"Avada Kedavra,"

Green light. Boom. The spell hits her and I hear a thousand screams, in her heart the souls die in the cage of bone, wilting in the spell, and I can see Dom, eyes wide, her scream is the loudest. You killed her James. The face of this monster morphs, her hair become long, blonde, and she stares at me, tears white, tears clean, she is crying, Dom is crying because I killed her. Twice now.

The monster smiles, she is still very alive, she is not human, she is not mortal, it cannot die. Her eyes widen, she shakes her head, lips pouted,

"Doesn't work like that Harry, it doesn't work like that, you have to kill all of me Harry, all seven,"

The air is cold, milliseconds, we are landing, I can see the D.A, my father, she will kill my father, my mother sits next to him, McGonagall, Scorpius, I close my eyes, my blood is rushing, think James, you are running out of time,

5

We are descending, smoke is forming, I can see Harry look up, eyes widen in horror, Ginny stands, Scorpius with her, the talons sink into my skin, Andrew pounds at me, at my flesh,

4

Andrew lets out a scream; his hand is bleeding, broken by her malice, she reaches up and grins at me, a flash, just a flash, a snap, he goes limp. His neck breaks. I can see spots. It is sickening. His breath stops. There is no sound. A smile. She enjoyed it.

3

She is going to kill us. She is going to kill all of us. Andrew falls onto the D.A mahogany table, his eyes are open, he has minutes to live, minutes to heal, I can feel rage pounding. James this is up to you. Her talons insert themselves into the back of my neck. I scream. It hurts. I am used to pain. Why the hell does it hurt? Be strong James. Think of a way. Think of a way out. You are not trapped. Her fingernails brush against my spine.

2

James. James use your brain. James? We land, crouched, the table shutters, Harry stands, mom screams, McGonagall reaches for her wand, the forgotten begins to leap, I grin. I grab onto her, wrapping my hand around her waist, and using the blade to cut her hand off of Andrew, and my mind redirects us, spinning away, I watch Andrew's hand severed by my blade, fall to the ground next to him, his wedding ban, a simple gold stained with red.

1

Andrew lands on the table of the D.A and we land, me and the monster on the ground, she crouches above me. Grass tickles my neck. Pain, suffering, I can't feel my heart. She rolls off, and stands over me, eyes wide with a satisfied and fascinated horror.

I stand, pushing her off of me, and holding my wand at her throat, but the wand is not a weapon, it is pointless. It is all pointless. My voice is strong, I cannot show weakness, I am James Potter after all.

"What are you?"

She grins

"I am you Harry. I am you."

I shake my head, voice soft,

"I am not my father. I am not Harry Potter."

She shakes her head, her face changes shape, from Harry, to Tom, to Dom, to Rose, to strangers, her voice is quiet, her feet no make no sound as she walks forward,

"You made a mistake killing me Harry, don't you see? You can't save them now, your family, your loved ones, you can't save them,"

I am stepping back, counting the seconds, she is going to try and kill me, she is going to, it is going to. I am afraid. Something that can destroy me in a heartbeat scares me. What scares me is me, James Sirius Potter, and if I snap, and go to kill it, thinking of Dom there, on the cobblestones, I will die, I cannot win this battle, but do I have the courage to not be brave, do I have the self-restraint to not attempt suicide and justice in one? I can feel my fists form in anger, I am raging mad. It will kill me instead. If I go to kill it I will not win. Not today. Another day. A different moment, I will win then.

She steps forward, and tilts her head, she is barefoot, her feet are cracked, blood, black blood pours from them, it reminds me of the elevator, the blood on his shoes when he got off. But why does it remind me of that? He is in the D.A, stop stressing James, stop it, but I can feel it, realisation after realisation hitting me.

She laughs, head thrown back, and her eyes are kind, like my mothers, and I shiver, it is cold, the illusions are cold, she walks forward, I don't move. Chin raised. Her voice is a whistle, it is ice cold,

"You are angry Harry, angry that Fleur blames you aren't you?"

I stop walking back, and tilt my head to the side, we mirror each other's movements, she looks like my dad, her voice changes to his, and I can see tears, swimming in his eyes, they are swimming in mine too. It is an illusion but I wish it was true. My voice trembles,

"How do you know about that?"

She grins, and steps forward. I don't move.

"I was there Harry. I've been everywhere, following you around, watching your family morn, its amusing Harry, the way you cry,"

Her veins run, and I see in them memories, of the casket, Dom there, Fleur on the ground, mouth agape, Harry by her side, and I shake my head, voice cracking,

"How the hell do you know this, unless?"

She tilts her head,

"Unless?"

I close my eyes, hands falling to my side, voice soft,

"Rose."

She grins, and her hand extends, reaching for me, but I am already gone, disappearing into smoke.

Truth has a funny way of showing itself. It curls around you and hides behind and you are lost in it, what can you do? You have no choice but to face it. There are these new things that I don't understand. New things that confuse me, and I hate confusion, because it means someone lied, it means someone didn't tell me the whole truth. And I can see green eyes, regretting. Perhaps it wasn't goodbye because she didn't say the whole truth, perhaps her way of holding onto me. A strange way. Or maybe it's my way of hoping she did. Of praying she did. But that's not right. Because praying means I must be believing in a god, but I am one. A god.

The dictionary says a god is a source of all authority, I hold authority, but I do not use it. Roses' words ring true,

"You are unimportant, and you choose to be that unimportant…"

The air flies by me, I can see fists, and blood, and red, and cold. I like the feeling of apparating, it is like flying, a flash of freedom, no one can stop you, a blurr of motion, a moment suspended in just the wonder of the now. And then you hit the ground. And there you are. Falling. Running. There is no escaping apparating, you are stuck, you go where you think of, who you think of. It's just how it works.

I need somewhere safe. I am desperate for safety. I need a safe haven. Someone I trust, someone I can collapse against and scream to. Someone who can answer my question and wonder with me. I need help. Desperately. I need safety. Hope. Love. Trust. Honesty.

I land. The ground is wood, dark. And everything is blue. Blindingly so. I can see a darkness, the stars shine from heavy windows, the drapes are closed, and the moonlight, just a sliver of silver shines through the cracks. The room is empty, and far below the bustle of life, the waking of children, thousands of them in the early morning spirits of the week take place.

The walls are blue; I land on my back, thump. I love blue walls. Who knew I loved them that much. The beds are also blue, a navy, the walls are painted as bookshelves, the bathroom door is open, the robes are lying out, steam rises around the door, mist of the heat of the shower. The mirrors are fogged.

Bust most importantly there is a girl. She is wearing a blue bath robe, tied loosely around her waist, hair damp, back to me. Her fingers are long, her eyes are green, her hair is a darker colour of gold, a bronze. Her neck is slender; drops of clear water cling to soft skin, lips parted. And I can feel my heart pick up.

I know exactly where I am. The Ravenclaw Girl's Dormitory. I wince. This is not the kind of reunion I had in mind, and the dull throb of the talon pultruding from my neck fades as I silently crawl backwards, considering my options.

I will tell you something, I am not someone you who often scolds myself, but at this moment in time I am very much screaming at me. It consists of a lot of bloody idiot James, and Rose is gonna hate you, and you better run for your life, and you perverted teenage human. Things like that. But there is also a curiosity, an interest, and the constant pain of the fingernail digging into my flesh.

And then I hear it. Break. Boom. The mug of water slips from those fingers and hits the ground. Smash. I stop my retreating and slowly turn to face the mess I have caused.

She stands in front of me, robe clutched to her chest, eyes wide, hair wet, just out of the shower. And lets out an ungodly scream, I wince and sit up, tilting my head to the side and running a hand through my hair, I raise a hand and wave voice as casual as possible,

"Hi Rose, fancy meeting you here,"

Her jaw unhinges and she laughs, high, so high I can hardly hear it, and then the throwing begins. Anything she can reach for, starting with the tooth brush, then V's tooth brush, then the hairbrush, then a hand towel, and so on. You get the gist. Fortunately for me, I am a trained Quidditch player and hairbrushes do not compare to bludgers, not even a little bit.

Dodging the flying toilet cleaner, I yell out,

"Merlin Rose, stop!"

Her hand falters, the shampoo bottle clutched in a fist, knuckles red with anger, eyes slits. She slams it down, crossing her hands over her chest, and gives me the fakest smile of the year, voice lowering to a growl, teeth bared,

"What the actual hell do you think you are doing James Potter?"

She reaches for her wand, replacing the shampoo and muggle objects with curses of every variety, as water, sunflowers, lemon juice, fire, hot air and ice streak past me, causing the perfect room of blue to become a rainbow of assorted colours. Somewhere in the middle of curses and genuine swearing I smile, honest, because if it had been any other girl, and not Rose, they would have been fine with me showing up on their bedroom floor. But this is Rose we are talking about. And if she had the guts to, she would have tackled me, but she was wearing a bath robe, and she is reasonable, just a little.

I stop ducking, and simply sit eyes following the spells. She does not aim to hit me, just to scare. The last curse hits the floor, some green slugs, and she lets out a deep breath, hand going limp at her side,

Her voice holds an edge, sharp, cutting,

"Do you think you can just appear and disappear when you please?"

I duck my head, letting her complete her raging, letting her anger come to a close, she won't calm down until she gets it out of her system, so I sit, head propped on a crimson hand, eyes smiling up at her. Her voice is bitter, I'll admit, she is sexiest when she is mad, that causes my smile to widen, her eyes become narrow slits, her hands on her hips, teeth grinding on each other, cheeks flushed, voice rigid,

"Do you know what a bloody door was created for? So you could knock, you idgit, so you could knock, do you want me to teach you how to knock? Here I'll teach y-"

She stops short, catching her breath and staring at my hands, they are stained red, that red that she hates, that I despise. A crimson we both know all too well, and her voice drops to a whisper, anger deflating,

"James? There red, your hands, why? Wait, no, I, are you? What?"

I shake my head, eyes lowering, voice caught, the smile slips, and I can feel the pain come back, my voice trembles,

"Rose, tell me the bloody truth, are they in your head, the forgotten?"

She stares at me, eyes wide, and then lets out a trapped breath, voice soft,

"Come on; let's get you cleaned up,"

I shake my head, eyes horrified,

"No. Rose you have to tell me. I need to know."

She shakes her head, voice soft,

"You don't need to, you want to, to know, but I also have no clue,"

I step closer to her, and she looks away, down at that fascinating floor, the anger is gone. The world has come to a still. And the pocket of happiness has disappeared. And I want to hold onto it. But I don't know which part to believe, if I forgive her completely if I'll get hurt, if I can bear everything to her. If that is a possibility, if it is right, if it is wrong, is it wrong? I hang my head, hands locked, elbows propped on my knees and shake my head, voice angered, soft, careful,

"No clue about what?"

She steps back, eyes sweeping the mess, and she raises her wand again, not towards me, but the mess, and begins to murmur the cleaning charms, her voice shakes, but it is also steady, and she murmurs voice soft,

"I apologize for over reacting,"

I laugh, soft, and shake my head,

"Don't-"

She cuts me off, eyes hard,

"But I also expect an apology from you, because this is how it works James, in a relationship you apologize when you do something wrong, apparating into my room at 6 in the morning counts as something wrong,"

She stops and looks down at me, I raise my head, eyes meeting hers and nod, voice just a whisper,

"I'm sorry."

She tilts her head and sighs, lips turning up a little,

"James, you cannot appear out of nowhere covered in blood and yell at me,"

I close my eyes, voice soft,

"I didn't mean to come here; I'll leave after you answer me. I need to know, not just as a friend, or a fellow student but also as a D.A member, and a ministry official,"

She sighs, and ducks her head, laughing; it is a dark laugh, an angered laugh,

"Of course. You seem to enjoy pulling rank on people, reminding me of just how small I am in the grand scheme of things compared to you."

I roll my eyes, and groan, hands forming fists, voice louder, growing,

"I don't wish to offend, is it that hard to answer?"

She flicks her wand; the flowers fly towards the open waiting trash can, along with the shattered mug shards. She pauses and answers me, back to me,

"The first time they got in my head was seven days before Dom died, and every day till Dom died. Then they went away, they came back on the day of the funeral, at night. But I do not understand what you mean by in my mind? As in what?"

I sigh, falling back onto the wooden floor, letting out a groan of pain and anger. And answer her question,

"Can they see what you are doing, what the people around you are doing, can they see through your eyes, and witness everything you witness?"

She bites her lip, wand lowering, and considers it, and then nods, slowly,

"It is possible. They, they know memories of me and you, of me and V, and Dom that I have never showed them, well, spoken about to them. So yes, that would make sense. But then-"

I wince, eyes finding hers, and we speak together, voices grave,

"Then they know what we are talking about right now."

She drops her wand; the wood bounces of the floor and rolls to the wall, bumping against it. She stares at me, minding whirling into motion,

"Then they can get in any orphans mind even if they aren't forgotten, even if they won't be, right? Or, or is it just the ones they have touched, the ones who should be dead, like me? James?"

I rub my temples, voice a whisper,

"I have no idea, but probably the second. They must have some sort of connection with your soul, some way that resurrecting, or making you come back to life, healing you, it connects, somehow,"

We are silent as she cleans the rest of the room. I follow her movements, and I can feel my heart relax. It has missed her. My heart. Maybe James Potter hasn't but James Potter's heart has.

She stops and we watch each other, careful, and I stand, slowly, and wince, hand going to my neck, fingers coming back dark with blood, and I bite my cheek, the pain is soft, but the nail is deep, butting into my flesh and severing a vein.

I gesture to the world outside of the window, as the sun rises, slowly, golds and blues shining, and my voice is heavy with emotion,

"I should get going, and I am sorry Rose, for startling you, for interrogating you, for not trusting you, for-"

She shakes her hand and her fingers find my wrist, soft, and gesture to my neck, eyes worried, just so slightly concerned, voice steady,

"First wipe off the blood,"

I look her up and down. The puddle of water at her feet, the cleanly shaved legs, the damp blue robe, the curve of her neck and I feel a childish grin form on my face, perhaps happiness can last, perhaps missing her makes me want to stay, perhaps my heart is stronger than my brain. Or maybe I am just a hormone driven teenager. Whichever it is, I don't go. Not that fast. My voice lowers, and I purposefully stick my jaw out, flexing my arm muscles, and smile, soft, a little heated,

"I think my luck is getting better,"

She glances down and blushes, eyes wide, and hits me over the head, soft so as not to hurt my injury further, voice relieved, voice more friendly, opening, requesting, calm,

"Merlin James, sometimes I forget that you are an immature teenager,"

I lower my gaze, teeth caught on my lip,

"I've missed you."

She gulps, hands dropping my wrist and taking a step back, arms wrapping around her waist, eyes looking everywhere but at me. And I chuckle, voice soft,

"How's that for mature?"

She laughs, eyes finding mine, it sounds like bells, but there is a sadness, an irony to it,

"Great. Great job James."

She turns around, hand tucking stray strands of wet hair behind her rosy ears, searching for medicine in the cabinet, she turns back, eyebrow arched,

"Is this gonna become an often thing? You showing up covered in blood, unannounced, and random?"

I tilt my head to the side, and wink, causing her to snort, my voice steady,

"Isn't love supposed to be an unexpected roller coaster?"

She glances down, her fingers playing at the frayed edges of the blue, and then back up, I go on, voice quiet,

"One minute we are on top of the world, and then we are at rock bottom,"

She bites her cheek, eyebrows scrunched together, forming a crease in her brow,

"And where are we now? Top or bottom?"

I tilt my head back and arch a brow,

"Where do you want us to be?"

She glances away, taking in a hissed breath,

"What does it depend on?"

I step forward, wincing as blood trickles down my spine, voice uneven,

"On if you answer my questions, and if I answer yours,"

She nods, and then looks back up, voice soft,

"You shouldn't tell me James, anything."

I feel my heart thud. Voice breaking,

"Why?"

She looks up, eyes angry, angry at herself, voice shaking,

"They are in my head James. They know what the people around me say. They know what you would say. What I would say. They see what I see. They cannot tell emotion but they can tell facts,"

I freeze. She looks away, voice cracking,

"They hear everything everyone says around me. Understand? If you tell me, they will know you told me, they will know you know. I am a spy, I don't want to spy, I have no control. I speak when I want to speak. But sometimes,"

She lets out a breath, and walks to the bed, sitting, voice broken,

"Sometimes they pull me out of my head, and I see them, and they say horrible things, and they do horrible things. And I fight, oh James, please believe that I fight tooth and nail, but,"

She shakes her head, hands forming fists,

"I am not strong enough; somehow, I am not strong enough to win. To beat."

I stare at her, voice shaking,

"Then how much do they already know?"

She glances up, eyes wide, and blinks away, voice soft,

"Only what you have told me, that you are in the D.A, that you regret the vote, that Scorpius' mum is sick because of them, I know enough to not do harm, those are things they could have already found out, from others."

I nod, eyes gesturing for her to go on, she keeps eye contact, gaze steady, voice trembling,

"But if you tell me more, they will know, they know I am a weakness of the Potters, of you, how I am so close to all of you, they may think we are fools, and that our trust blinds us, but we must out smart them James. We must."

I nod, voice soft,

"Yes. We will."

She smiles, and lets out a high laugh, hands running through her hair, going on,

"Sometimes I am me, yelling, threatening, sometimes it is a memory of me and you, or me and V, or Scorp, and other times it is just me and them, me and them, and illusions, things that don't make sense, nothing adds up, there is no logical conclusion I can find, no connection."

She drops her head into her hands, and lets out an unsteady breath.

"When it first happened I asked why me?"

I step forward, crouching before her, she looks up, we are inches apart,

"But I understand now James, I am at the centre of your world, perfectly placed, I am close to V, all of them, Hermione treats me like a daughter, your parents are willing to let me live with you, you, well, you and I are something, and Scorp, and Albus, and-"

She shakes her head, eyes rolling, shining with anger, rage, her voice unsteady,

"But then, why not someone like Sheila?"

I close my eyes wincing; her voice finds it ironic,

"It's obvious,"

I complete her sentence voice ragged,

"Its because you are an orphan, you are connected, you may not be forgotten, but you still have a bond, Sheila isn't, no one else that is close to us is."

She shakes her head, eyes watery,

"There you are wrong James Potter,"

I blink,

"What?"

She glances down, voice heavy,

"Teddy. He is an orphan, isn't he?"

I stare at her and it is a complete circle and there is a horror reflected in each of our eyes. And my voice shakes, I know what she is saying, but facing it, it scares me, because it means betrayal, doesn't it? If doesn't mean that then what does it mean? James breathe, James answer her. My voice shakes, my hands are unsteady,

"Well, not really, I mean, yes, he is, but,"

She stares at me, eyes scared; I shake my head, arching an eyebrow,

"What are you saying? Rose?"

She ducks her head, and blows out her cheeks, head shaking, hands ruffling her hair,

"It's, well, it's just a theory, you know? I don't want you to freak out-"

I blink, staring at her,

"You mean a hypothesis?"

She nods, hands finding mine,

"What is it?"

She gives me a long look, and then continues voice quiet,

"Has Teddy ever been attacked by a forgotten before James? Has he ever gotten in a situation that is close to death with one? James?"

I stare at her. I can see it still, Teddy and I, the first time we had met one, a year ago, before Sheila had found me, before Sheila and I had met, before she took me to the hospital, before, before, before. I squeeze my eyes shut, hands going to my temples, voice breaking,

"Yes. It is possible, there is a possibility that, that he has been."

Her breath shakes, her eyes hold a terror, her voice is just a whisper,

"Is Teddy on the D.A? James?"

I stare at her, and slowly, so very slowly I nod. She winces, hands finding mine, voice trembling,

"What if they already know everything on the D.A, what if they are also in his head? Logically then can get in any orphans head, no matter the age, right? Teddy isn't a forgotten, but, that does not not make him an orphan."

I feel my head spin, and stare at her, shaking my head,

"But- that doesn't, he would never betray me, he would never"

She looks down, voice steady,

"He may not know James, they don't need to tell him like they told me, do you think every orphan out there is seeing illusions and watching their friends die while being told to choose?"

I fall to the floor, head buried in my hands,

"You're right. None of the death eaters had time to inform the forgotten that we were there tonight, we captured them too fast. No. They, they only knew because of him, it's the only logical connection, it's the only, the only thing that makes sense,"

She stares at me, eyes wide, and I stare at her, in wonder, horror, shock, and I can feel the world spin by, the soft shouting beneath us, I can see his eyes, angry in the darkness, the glint of the red, the eyes always give it away. My voice is cold, raging,

"They have been a step ahead, but for how long? And now they know we know, know that he did it, because of you, so they are still ahead, we cannot get ahead of them Rose, we can never get ahead of them."

She sinks to the floor with me, head shaking, voice broken,

"Now what?"

My breath catches,

"I don't know. I don't know. We need evidence, we need evidence that what we think is true is, we need proof, not just speculation,"

She nods, and I give her a small, hopeless, desperate smile,

"My god Rose BlackThorne, you are brilliant, you are brilliant,"

She gives me a quizzical look and laughs softly, head shaking, eyes scared, scared that I will hurt her, almost waiting for it, her voice shakes,

"You just realised that? Merlin, that's depressing,"

She stands, hands clawing at her bath robe, she goes to the bathroom, and pauses,

"I'm gonna go change now…."

I nod, staring into blank space. She gives me a long look, voice soft,

"Don't disappear on me Potter. I'll be very angry,"

I glance over at her and nod; she rolls her eyes, head shaking. And retreats behind the door.

I sit there. There are no thoughts. It is like it imploded. Everything. The minutes pass. In silence. She comes out. She walks towards me. Her hands are warm. They wrap around my neck,

"You breathing?"

I glance up and give her a small broken smile,

"Mhmm,"

She arches a brow. We are silent. Then she asks the real question,

"How much do you think they got from Teddy? About the D.A?"

I shake my head, voice soft,

"If what you are saying is true, then everything, they got everything for the past eight months or so,"

She bites her lip, eyes lost,

"Now what?"

I shake my head, hands running through my dark hair,

"We kick him out. Out of the D.A. I explain it to dad and mum, and we kick him out. We stop talking about important things around him, business around him, we push him away,"

She lets out a broken laugh, and pulls away, voice shaking,

"Is that what you are going to try to do to me?"

I glance up, she looks angry. Very angry. Not at me, but everything, her life, her stupid fate. I am angry too. She is angry at the forgotten, for yet again they have won, as they continue to win, over and over. Today was another battle, a battle of wits and we have lost. We have lost Dom, and Teddy and hope. In war casualties are necessary, but so are spies. And they have how many? How many people in the D.A don't have parents? The D.A consists of hundreds of people, from all over the world, your lineage has never been of concern before, and now what? Do we offend other countries as we do background checks, and how long will that take? And not just the D.A, orphans extend over all species, the question is, is it just humans or goblins, creatures, house elves, dragons as well? Just how much influence do they have? We are no longer facing a faceless monster that kills randomly, we are facing a well-planned organization that has more power than we can imagine.

She sighs and smiles softly,

"If you push me away James do it straight to my face, same for Teddy, if you love someone, or just care about someone don't find an excuse. Because Teddy and I are smart and we care about you, and the government and we know what is right and wrong and what is the difference. And we will make the selfless decision. We are not fools"

I stare up at this strong, courageous woman and I feel it a pain, deep in my bones. And I shake my head, voice broken,

"I hate it. How can they have the upper hand, all this time? They are forcing us to choose, me to choose, my father to choose, now what, you ask? We must make that choice, and can we? Can he?"

Her eyes find mine, and she searches them, gold on green. And shrugs, backing up till she sits on the bed, eyes scared, not of me, but herself, the villains in her head,

"Then what? What happens next?"

I let out a sigh, and give her a long look,

"We need to find a loop hole, a way to stop it, to control it."

She nods. And then pauses, grabbing a scarf, and tying it around her eyes, and picks up a pen, scratching on a scrap piece of paper a question, holding it up, so that her eyes do not see it, and I read it silently,

"Feed the forgotten falsified information?"

I grin, and nod, eyes following her, but answer with a "Yes" as she is currently blinded by the scarf, she unties it, fingers working, note face down, eyes on me, and we watch each other. And there is this feeling. This new feeling that I am beginning to enjoy, this feeling of working beside her, of working with her to overthrow them, it is a new kind of adrenaline, a new kind of alliance. Who knew, that an orphan girl and a Potter would sit on the same floor planning to overthrow everything, planning to tip it upside down.

We are silent as she gets the medicine out, fingers working quietly, as she takes the potions and numbs the skin, using disinfectant and a few other herbs to heal the smaller wounds before she goes to tackle the talon.

Eventually I speak, voice soft,

"How did I not see it before?"

She arches an eyebrow,

"What?"

I smirk, tongue running over lips,

"How you are not just beautiful, but incredibly intelligent, conniving, fascinating,"

She blushes crimson, and covers her hands with her face, peaking out at me through her fingers. And her smile holds a broken, but happy feel, it is just a ghost of a smile, but it is enough. Maybe she is enough.

She clears her throat and takes out the tweezers, teeth caught on her lip and narrows her eyes, voice a tad disgusted,

"James, no offence but this is disgusting, and plus I am not certified in medicine, I could seriously damage you, don't you rather a professional do it?"

I give her a long dumb look and she rolls her eyes, voice a murmur,

"Stubborn idiot,"

I grin, voice matching hers,

"What was that?"

She glances up at me,

"This might hurt, so take my hand and squeeze it as hard as you can kay?"

She offers me her hand, fingers slender, palm up, skin white. I take it, and she smiles with her eyes. Her skin is warm and I give it a squeeze, she focuses her eyes on the jagged cut, with the talon, and reaches up with the tweezers, about to pull it out, but I stop her, hand catching hers, voice laughing,

"My god did you actually think I was going to make you pull a fingernail out of my spinal cord?"

She rolls her eyes and lets go of my hand letting out a breath and a soft murmur,

"Thank god!"

I smile as she stands and puts the medical equipment away, and I stand, so we come face to face, my voice is a whisper, her lips shine in the golden of the rising sun, and our eyes lock, my voice tender,

"I really want to kiss you, but, I think if I start to kiss you I won't be able to ever stop kissing you, so, maybe next time?"

She laughs and gives me a stupid look, voice dripping with sarcasm,

"I wouldn't want to kiss you, James, you are covered in blood, and alley dirt, and you have a talon sticking out of the back of your neck,"

I nod, chuckling,

"Good point,"

She nods with me, I gesture to the window,

"I should get going, and take care of the fingernail thingy, and I have work, and family stuff and-"

She nods and looks down her voice a tad angry, a bit sad, maybe a little ironic,

"James Potter what's next? Every time I see you you have a new responsibility you don't want, it is endless and exhausting, don't you see?"

I stare at her, and look down, voice ragged,

"I am stronger than I look,"

She shakes her head,

"No. No you are weaker than you look and that makes you human, it makes you just a boy, and that's okay too, right?"

I stare at her and shake my head, voice angry,

"Why do you rather me with flaws?"

She looks up and tilts her head to the side, hand finding mine, fingers weaving together,

"Because then we are on the same planet, you are not up there, and I am not down here, because neither of us are perfect, nothing is,"

I look down at our hands and my voice is honest,

"What are we?"

She looks at our fingers as well. And she is silent, for a moment, and then slowly, she answers,

"Why must we be something? Why must we define who we are? What do we need justification for? Are we both really that insecure? Why can't it just be two people with hands intertwined?"

I let out a breath and let go of her hand. Leaving it dangling by her side, my voice is hardened, and unintentionally the mask is back, and the weakness, the endless flow of it is gone, the broken speech, the need for her, the beating of my heart is gone. And she can tell, I know she can. I step back, voice echoing,

"That makes us nothing"

She laughs, ironic, and shakes her head, voice collected,

"No James that makes us something that is waiting to happen, if you let it."

I stare at her, and duck my head,

"Bye."

She rolls her eyes, and nods, voice even,

"Promise to go to the hospital first you idgit,"

I nod, and she rolls her eyes again, pushing me away from her,

"GOOO,"

I grin, because there is a kindness to this fascinating girl, an interest, a need a desire. And with a wink I disappear this time leaving a smiling girl, with her heart thudding, and her eyes wide. A brilliant girl. My brilliant girl.

And yet that brilliant girl still does not know what is to come. What Scorpius gave me. What horrors we are to face. I hit the ground, Potter Manor, I send a fire message to my family that I am okay, reporting what happened, and requesting a private family meeting. To tell Teddy. To tell the Potters. My family.

I close my eyes I can see it now, the memory floats towards me, tinted blue, I close my eyes, it floods in. The room is big, Draco stands in it, white hair hanging in his eyes, fists formed, and he yells at them, the death eaters. And I know why. Bound by blood. Souls.

Everyone knows the classic tale of Tom Riddle, Voldemort, he who must not be named, breaking open the door, footsteps heavy, he killed James Potter first, and Lily rushed in front of the crib, eyes wide, and begged. He laughed, everyone says Tom laughed. He killed her too. A flash of green light. He walked forward and peered over the wood of the crib, and he saw Harry Potter. Scar-less. And he raised his wand, bringing it down in a cruel arc, green light filling the room, lighting it up like a storm. But something went wrong. Love. True love. Lily sacrificed herself for Harry, so he lived. And a part of Voldemort went into Harry. The part they leave out is that a part of Harry went in Voldemort.

When I say a part I mean a part of his soul. Horcruxes, when you break your soul into many parts so unless all of the parts are killed you will never die. It is a chance at being immortal, at living forever. Except once all the parts are collected, and killed you die. Now, it was not purposeful, but Harry has a Horcrux, one that we all assumed died when Voldemort was killed. But how wrong we were.

The memory is clouded, but I can still see, from Scorpius' eyes the words from their mouths. Just whispers and they whisper it like a monster.

"The forgotten have run out of Harry's soul, it is stretched so thin, over the last generation, they cannot turn the rest of the orphans without another piece, they need another Horcrux; get us that Malfoy and we will cure your wife."

What does that mean? You are curious, but it is obvious. It means that bound by blood is bound by soul, the ritual that is necessary to change them, into monsters, into forgotten requires a piece of the people they have to hunt, they are wired to hunt, and since Voldemort is dead, someone needs to get another Horcrux from a Potter. From Harry. From my dad.

Voldemort took the piece of soul he got from Harry and he created the forgotten, using it. It is like giving a hunting dog a taste of the blood of the murderer before you tell it to chase, a search dog to find, he gave the soul as a piece of what was necessary to die. And that piece of Harry is still alive until they kill it, stretched thinly, broken into thousands of pieces, one in each of the Forgotten's caged hearts.

I have seen their hearts. Souls dance in them. But what makes the heart beat? They don't have blood. Everyone needs something to survive. Now we have a weakness. Harry is in each of their hearts, each of the Forgottens' chests pounding the rhythm of life.

There is no life if that piece is killed. But what do we do? How can we kill a forgotten if Harry is in their heart, if a piece of him dies? It is their weakness and our weakness. It is a smart move, in fact it is brilliant, we cannot attack because Harry will hurt, and they cannot kill us because they need us to live on. So we are stuck. We need another weakness. Something more vulnerable. We need to get into their hearts.

But of course, if they give up on finding Harry's soul, they could use anyone's, right? If they just need a powerful person in the D.A, there are too many to pick from, right? If they get that desperate then what?

But there is a loop hole. There has to be one. Voldemort had one wish, over all others. To kill Harry Potter. So there must be away to kill all of the forgotten, all at once, or else he wouldn't have made them, too complicated, too difficult. And if he had made them, he would have put someone else's soul in them. No, he made them so that we cannot kill them because we are not cruel monsters, we value Harry, we care for Harry, we would not kill Harry. But he would.

No, Tom Riddle was smart, he played us by our emotions, he knows we cannot kill our own, he knows that even if we could kill them we wouldn't. He knows it is useless. So I tested that theory, on the faceless monster in the alleyway. But Avada Kedavra did not kill Harry's piece of soul, because she still lives. It killed the other souls of the dead she was carrying, but not his. It is not that simple.

But who would know Tom well enough to know what that weakness is? No one. No one but Harry Potter himself, the man who has been in the monsters head, who has walked his mind, and lived in his shoes, who knows him inside and out.

Voldemort was a genius, he was smart, and cruel and twisted but he did not expect, he had no idea the strength of the Potters. And the Forgotten do not know that I know. They do not. So I am safe. We are safe. For now.

The door opens, I turn, and there they stand. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Ted Lupin, James Potter. Our eyes meet, I gesture to the empty seats, and so we sit. In the shadows of the mornings last dawn, with a talon of the forgotten in my flesh, and the changing eyes of a surprised orphan, the hardened heart of past warriors, the scars of what this monster, what Tom Riddle has done to us.

I raise my chin, voice echoing,

"Let this meeting commence."

A nod. The doors shut, and the world shut out. And I will tell you know Forgotten, why we are known as an empire, because family comes first and we will risk anything to protect it. You have won so far, but no more. We have caught up and we know more than you think and we are coming. And you are the new prey.

Hermione raises her glass, the wine is crimson red, lips parted, eyes locked with mine, voice full of malice,

"Let the games begin."

I grin,

"Cheers."

The glasses clink. Teddy rises. White faced. My arms wrap around him. He leaves. And I can see it. A self-hatred, that self-hatred was in Roses eyes too, but not for long. We can change it. We can fix this. We must.

And now we are getting ready for battle, for war, and we are ready, our hearts armour protecting. We rise from the ashes. The doors are high, dark mahogany, I push them open, side by side with my family.

We stand before them. The D.A. And I can see it on each and every one of their faces. A fear. I shout it,

"Bar the doors. No one leaves this room until we have confirmed if they are an orphan or not."

The doors shut, Aurors stand before them. I arch a brow. This is how it begins. You eliminate all possible weakness. You create information that is lies, you make truces you lie, and you lie until they trust you, and then you tell them the truth. Hermione's hand finds mine and she gives it a squeeze and I look down. She wears short sleeves and wears the scar dug into her skin with pride. I trace it with my finger. There was a time mudbloods were beneath. But times have moved on. And this is no longer that world. This is our world. And it is about time we rule it. We change it.


	24. The Power of Knowledge

Chapter 24: The power of knowledge

~ROSE's POV~

Sometimes I feel like I'm going insane.

The walls close in and the monster is me. I am the monster. I want them dead.

And I can't open my eyes because they are open and I am staring right at you. And I can see you tremble. And I take pleasure in it.

And the sleep like state of hell has me terrified, and cluster phobia and fear of life come hand in hand with devils. And the snakes eyes are narrowed. And it is the finger between my lips, and the nail cutting my tongue. And I can feel her shake me. And I want to hurt her. To hurt me. And I am scaring me. And they are scared of me. Everyone. I can see it in their eyes. They think I will kill them. I. Me. Rose. A Ravenclaw. A child. A fourth year. And they whisper, and they grin, and it is my lips that match their movement.

And it is a game. Because I am meaner than my demons. And I feel scared. How can I explain? I can't sleep. My eyes won't close because I am scared of what I will see. I am tortured. They are torturing me. The Forgotten will not let me die, they will not let me go. I want to go. But they kill me slowly.

And the worst torture of all is that they are taking my mind. They are taking my sanity. They are making me go mad. I might already be mad.

The steps are long, the stairs extend before me, I can see eyes, people watching me, people who I don't know, but they don't watch me because they know me, no, they watch me because I knew Dom, I knew her. And I was there when she died. I was there. And I killed her. And I wore black. And I cried. So they look because they think I am interesting, and they wonder what Dom could have seen in a little girl like me, and I wonder too. I wonder what would have happened and how many more years she would have lived if I never came to Hogwarts, if I never bumped into Veronica on the train, or looked into those golden eyes, and raised my middle finger, if I never got a letter sealed in red, if I never shook his hand and got called Lily. If little things changed. If everything changed.

Fate has an odd sense of humour, but I don't find it funny. I lower my head, eyes closing, a blink. A breath. And then a hand. Her fingers are warm, her eyes are steady, V is steady, she gives it a squeeze, and smiles, lips turning up, and she leads me, steps confident down those stairs. And they look away, because death scares them, and loss is not as amusing as one would think. Rox finds my other hand, her fingers are long, Lucy gives me a squeeze on my shoulder, eyes glaring at the eyes, because we are too young to care about what they think. Or maybe because we are young we care. Because maybe that's how it works. Are youth makes us scared. And I am terrified. My hands tremble, and the quill goes dry because I cannot write. And my stomach goes hungry because food has reminders.

Depression is a word. We hear it and we don't think it is serious. We think we can handle anything. And when the blow is too big we expect others to help, to hold us up, and we look for blame, we need something to blame. Because that's how it works. Some of us pick up a raiser and we cut into flesh, because that's easier, some of us stick our hands down our throats, and we gag until it draws blood, some of us cry and cry, hands clawing at skin, some of us sit and stare and observe and wonder. And then there is me. The days are mechanical. And there are little bubbles of happiness, when V's eyes light up, and Rox starts taking photos, or Lucy screams at a random guy for staring. When Scorp hugs me, when Albus gives me a steady nod, an arch of an eyebrow, when Frank holds my bag, or the door open for me. When Fred puts the food onto my plate, eyes searching mine. Little things. Little things begin to matter like they never did before. And days become lighter, and you feel guilty when you laugh, and yet you can't not laugh because it has been so long since you have smiled that your cheeks hurt.

And then you miss him. Because he is beginning to matter in your life. And the newspaper headlines make him look like a bad guy. But you love him. And he never said it back. So you wonder where that is. And you wait for him, and you would wait forever. And you try to be patient. And you try to be positive. And you don't cry as much, each day holds less tears and more laughter. And we move on. And we don't want to. But how can we not? And we say sorry, so much that the word no longer has any value. And we dream, we dream of a new dream that does not have her in it. And that hurts.

The nights are the longest. You curl up, and you wrap your arms around yourself, and you close your eyes tight and you breath, and then a sob whispers out, and in seconds V is in the bed, her arms replacing mine, and she holds me, and she tells me stories, stories of Dom. Because it eases the pain, somehow it does.

The classes are long. The essays are becoming repetitive. My brain is rotting, my heart is hurting, and there is someone else in my head. And life is this tangle of a mess, and you are not as courageous as everyone would like you to be. And everything, everything reminds you of her. The stars, the night, the morning breakfast, the spring flowers, the first day of summer come, the last day of snow, the melting of the frost, the switch of the seasons.

I write a letter every day to her. I pour everything into words. There is something beautiful about writing. You go to a place where she is still alive, and you hold onto it, the little things, the big things, all the things. And death, loss, it brings us together. And grudges, and pain are forgotten, because sometimes you just need someone to lean on, to trust. To care about. To care about you.

The darkness is cloudy, the window is open, the breeze is soft, the tears are hot on my back, my hand pats her head. Rox scoots up and peers up at V, passing her a tissue. Lucy sits with her head in her hands, eyes closed; back against the bed board. Roxy rests her head on my stomach, and sighs, eyes red, her breath shakes.

V leans into me, her hand finding mine, her tears are silent, they fall one by one, and then all at once. I give her fingers a squeeze. And I smile big. But it falls. And this is what we do. This is our way of coping. Our way of handling.

My fingers go to the necklace with her burning ash, and I trace the chain, my index finger long, it is cold, she was cold. I look out at the moon; it is big in the sky. And we say nothing for a while. Lucy breaks the silence, her voice cracking at the edges,

"Remember in first year when she tried to make us pancakes?"'

I glance up at her, her eyes swim with tears, she sniffles, and wipes her nose with the back of her wrist, and smiles, ducking her head,

"She didn't know that you had to crack the eggs, so she smashed them up with the egg shell, and they were so disgusting, weren't they?"

I smile, soft, and V laughs, watery, her voice cracking,

"I ate four of those dratted pancakes because I didn't want her face to fall."

I feel the hot of salt water on my cheek, Roxy looks up at me, her hair splaying across my chest, I play with the silky ends, her voice is soft,

"I wish I could eat those pancakes again, I would give anything-"

Her voice breaks, and she sobs, lost for words, and gasps for air, going on,

"I would give anything to eat them again…"

She sits up and scoots closer, collapsing against me, her face buried in my shoulder, I wrap my arms around her, her shoulders shake softly. The moon rises in the sky, the stars blinking to life. I smile softly, my voice just a murmur,

"She wanted to teach me how to make ice cream, she kept on asking, but I was so busy with school work, and we never,"'

I let out a long breath,

"We never got to, we never will get to."

V raises her hand and wipes the tears from my cheek, her fingers are warm, her touch is comforting. V's voice laughs, a sad laugh, but a work in progress. She looks at the ash necklace, and traces it with her own finger, on top of mine,

"She must be having so much fun, she always wanted to tour the world, she must be smiling for us, watching over us, she was good like that,"

Lucy nods her head, lifting it up and smiling down on the three of us, her eyes are like glass, and reflected in mine is the same heart wrenching sadness. She looks out the window, at the stars that shine for us. And her voice is quiet in the still,

"She would say look forward to tomorrow, because it is up to you to make it better than today."

I feel my eyes close, and nod my head, Roxy's voice is broken as she speaks up, muffled in my shoulder,

"Remember that time she woke up first and made a huge feast for us, and then ate it all by herself because we refused to wake up?"

I open my eyes, and squeeze Roxy closer to me, she goes on,

"We should have woken up, I'm trying to remember but I don't get why we didn't wake up, she was so disappointed, why didn't we? Why?"

V wraps her arms around me and Roxy and shakes her head, eyes dipping shut,

"Remember when she tried out ballroom classes and got a huge crush on her coach?"

I laugh, and nod my head, lips upturning, eyes shining, Lucy giggles with me, wiping at one of her tears, V grins, teeth glowing in the moons light,

"We all put together our Hogsmead money and bought a bouquet of roses, the sickly pink kind,"

Roxy cuts in, eyes shining with a broken joy,

"Yeah and when she finally went to give them to him, he introduced her to his wife,"

I full on laugh, hand going to cover my mouth, voice joining in,

"She was so outraged; she yelled for hours about how she is part veela,"

Lucy scoots closer, and lets out a sigh, smile fading,

"She really liked that coach…"

I glance up at her, and nod my head; Roxy giggles and sits up,

"No wonder she did his muscles were impressive okay, he could like lift like 2 billion pounds or something,"

I collapse in giggles and shake my head,

"No, that was not as bad as her huge crush on Mr. Longbottom."

V shrieks and grabs a pillow, attacking me with it, eyes wide, Roxy full on laughs,

"We swore to never speak of that again you traitor"

She grabs her own pillow and attacks me, I let out a scream for help but Lucy has flopped back on the bed, laughing her head off, arms clutching her stomach. Eventually we quiet down, all four of us lined up side by side on the little bed, Lucy and Roxy falling off of the edges. The moon has become distant, and the darkness has settled to a constant state. We lay there, each of us in our own special world. Lucy's voice speaks up,

"She was so in love with him… She never even got a chance to fall out of love with him…"

Roxy glances up, hair tickling my cheek, and her eyes hold a deep sadness, and she nods her head, hair sticking up in all directions,

"Poor Frank. Poor us. Poor Fleur."

V nods her head softly, wincing slightly at her words,

"Fleur was devastated, Dom was her joy, her budding happiness, Dom was her youth."

I sigh, eyes closing,

"She was our innocence. Now what?"

Lucy shakes her head and sighs and then thump. And a desperate scream. And laughter. She slips off the bed and hits the floor with a smack. Eyes watering, and promptly bursts into tears, and I can no longer tell if our tears are of grief or necessity or joy.

She crawls back on, and curls into V, her Gryffindor one-zy all rumpled.

I gaze up at the stars and I can see her laughing, teeth shining, eyes wide, flowers dancing in her hair, feet muddy from the lake, her shoulders sun burned, her cheeks flushed, the wind making her hair sway to the music, and I can see me learning to play the piano in the corner, she sits on the floor, trying to memorise charm spells, and then I can play, and she is waltzing to the blue Danube with Lucy, stumbling along, Roxy groaning about Quidditch practice, V sits beside me, playing the left hand as I play the right, and the music is taking to the wind, flying away from us, and swirling above us, and it turns to swan feathers as the pillow case snaps and we twirl in the feathers, jumping up and down in the bed, Dom's blue eyes glowing wide in the suns early light, and Roxy screaming for caffeine while V tries to help Lucy with her homework, but Lucy is running again, running across the room and climbing onto the bed with Dom and I and I remember her tackling me and the soft sheets beneath my back, and I blink and we are in the great hall daring each other to eat sardines. Dom has her nose scrunched up, and V has her head in her hands, while Lucy swallows them whole cheering us on, Roxy groaning as she refuses to answer which teacher she would marry, McGonagall or Slughorn.

And then we are in the snow, eyes closed tight, and the chill makes our fingers cold and our nose and ears are flushed red, and I am running away from Lucy who is trying to grab my Ravenclaw scarf and trade it for a Gryffindor one. And Roxy is skating on the lake, doing arabesques and intricate jumps, and V is trying to learn how to skate, Dom holds onto her arm, grinning, dimples forming, and she steadies her, hand on her arm, eyes encouraging, supporting, and then James flies by and pushes them, causing them to tumble onto the ice, and then Dom is skating after him screaming, and I can see his smile flash, his gold eyes leave an impression, my heart races.

And then the snow is gone, and we are picking wild berries in the fields outside of Hogsmead, smiling wide. And I can see my finger cut on the thorns, and Dom rushes over but V is already there with a healing charm and a concerned look. And I can see a little jealousy in Dom's blue orbs, but I blink and it is gone. And then the seasons are flying by and I am sobbing in the corner of the bathroom, clutching a letter to my chest. And Dom is hammering on the door, asking me to open up, and then Lucy is kicking down the door and a watery laugh escapes me, because that's extra Lucy for you. And then we are at the lake, asleep under the stars. And then we are at the Potters for Christmas and we are running through the forest, and the hot chocolate has little marshmallows and Roxy is teaching us how to do coffee art, a hidden talent of hers. And Lucy is learning how to take pictures with a muggle camera, and Roxy is frustrated because Lucy doesn't understand how it works. And then we are at Valentine's Day. And Dom walks towards James Potter. And she smiles. That was the last time she smiled.

I blink and the blue canopy has an empty look to it. And I smile slightly, a tear tracing an invisible pattern down my cheek. Lucy's voice cuts through my thoughts,

"She really liked dress ups, she used to go into Fleur's closet and steal the fluffiest gowns, and the highest heels."

Roxy smiles slightly, and finishes Lucy's sentence,

"Fleur would get so angry, but as soon as Dom shed a tear she was forgiven, in an instant."

V laughs softly at that, and lets out a sigh, her voice breaking slightly,

"Fleur and Dom were best friends."

I nod my head. And V pauses and sits up slightly, looking over the four of us on the one double bed, and sighs, eyes watering,

"We can finally all fit on the same bed."

I feel a tear fall, and look around. When Dom was around, there was five of us, and we would split into two different beds, fighting over who were the lucky two who would get the whole bed to themselves. Most of the time we would all end up on the floor, a pile of limbs and dirty clothes and long hair. I look down at the floor and I can see us, Roxy lays on top of V, Lucy's head rested on Roxy's thigh, Dom's head rested on my shoulder, my arm around my shoulders. Our eyes are closed. And then Dom sits up. She is see through, and she turns, and looks up at me, eyes cleared of the pain of death, and she tilts her head, and smiles wide, and laughs, cheeks forming dimples, her hair stirs in the night wind and runs over her clear skin, and with that wind she flows away, eyes disappearing with a blink.

Roxy breaks my thought, voice sad,

"I rather the floor. I rathered the floor."

Her hand goes to her face, covering her eyes, her breath shakes, trembles, breaks. Lucy speaks up,

"I just wish I didn't feel like I let her down, you know? Because I do, I feel like I should have done so much more, I feel like I failed her, and it's hard, I can't-"

She lets out a heavy breath, chest rising and falling, eyes squeezed shut. We are silent for a moment. And V stares up, at the blue canopy, and closes her eyes, voice long,

"I can't find a future where there is just us four, because it's always been five, every possible destiny, outcome was five, and now, I can't see what to do, I can't find a reason to do,"

She breaks off, and buries her face in her hands, letting out a long breath,

"I keep thinking now what? Now what?"

She pauses, and runs her hands into her hair, voice unsteady,

"I can't remember if I told her I loved her that day, or that week, I can't remember what was the last thing I told her, if it had any value, if it mattered, if it matters…"

She smiles softly, and ducks her head,

"I keep wondering if it hurt, dying, and it did, because she was crying, and pleading, and it was not okay, it's not okay."

She sobs, face crumpling, voice wavering,

"And I want vengeance but I'm just a kid, were just kids… So we are powerless and it pisses me off because no one loved her more than us, no one-"

Her voice breaks in two, and she pinches her nose, her fingers wet,

"I keep thinking selfish things like why couldn't it have been someone else? That I would give anything for it to be someone else."

She bangs her head into the pillows, eyes rimmed with red,

"I can't sleep at night, because I miss her and when I am not missing her I feel guilty and I have never had to deal with something like this before, and she was a sister, she was closer than that, and I just can't breathe, I can't breathe,"

She sits up, hands itching her skin, desperate, eyes wide with horror,

"I need to breath, I feel I'm suffocating, and I have to support everyone and no one supports me, and I just need, I need her, I do, I can't, listen, no listen Rose I can't"

I sit up with her and wrap my arms around her and she hits me, hands balled in fists, sobbing, voice trembling,

"And it's not okay, it's never going to be okay, and I just, I just, I'm so scared, merlin Rose I'm terrified."

She pulls me closer, her whole body shakes,

"I can't handle it, I miss her, I miss her Rose, so much, it's like a part of my heart was torn from my chest, and it hurts, damn it, it hurts."

Her head lolls onto my shoulder, her body is exhausted, tired, she sniffles,

"I loved her Rose. I loved her. I didn't know things like that can happen, I didn't know the world had such bad things, and I am scared, I am scared of living, and I am scared of dying and I am scared of being alone, please don't leave me alone…"

She pulls away, eyes wide, desperate, her lips tremble. Lucy sits up and wraps her arms around V from behind, resting her head on her back, Roxy leans into me, eyes scrunched closed.

"I'm right here V and I will never leave you. Okay? None of us will."

Roxy nods, taking V's hands in hers,

"Don't be lonely, hm? Don't be lonely V,"

She sobs, no sound coming from her lips. Time passes, and we hold onto each other, our hands desperate, our hearts hurting. And the pain doesn't go away but it lessens. And I can see Dom. She stands in the corner of the room, and her eyes are sad, and she tries to smile, but her lips won't move. And I reach for her, my hand leaving Lucy's but she shakes her head, lowering her eyes in pain, and she is telling me to give up on her, to let her go. But I can't seem to accept that. I can't. I won't. And she is gone. In a blink. My hand falls to my side. Limp.

V raises her head, eyes following mine to the empty room and she smiles, soft, and her bottom lip trembles,

"It is too late Rose isn't it? We can never go back to that,"

I nod, eyes lowering, and I look at Roxy asleep in my lap, my hand runs through her soft hair, the dark curls are slightly tangled. And then it shifts to Lucy who is passed out against V's back. My voice shakes,

"We cannot go back but we can go forward."

She shakes her head,

"And what is forward?"

I smile up at her,

"There is a whole wide world waiting for you Veronica Weasley. There is a future we can build, there is music to fill the silence, there are cities to explore, there is art to admire, there are dreams and smiles we haven't yet seen."

She stares at me, eyes wide, and I go on, voice soft,

"The best and the worst is to come, we will have the brightest memories, and the hardest laughs, and the saddest moments and the darkest days. But we will get through. Because beyond London, and England there are palaces, and jewels and finery, and great meadows, and deep seas, and culture. And it is waiting for you V. Don't leave it waiting forever."

A silver tear traces her cheek. I take her hands in mine,

"There are towers of gold and evergreen forests, and wild jungles, and people, and hope, and they need you V, they need your brain, your eyes, your smile, they have been waiting for you since the dawn of time. So don't give up. Because you are stronger than that. You've always been the strong one."

She gives my fingers a squeeze. And she smiles, wide, a dimple forming. And she laughs, soft, voice silly,

"My cheeks hurt. God that's depressing,"

She lets go of one of my hands and rubs them, making funny faces at me. I smile slightly, and duck my head.

"Isn't it scary V?"

She glances up and nods her head, hand finding mine again,

"It is. But I think it's scary because we have never been this powerless, this unimportant."

I lower my eyes, voice trembling,

"I feel jealous. I know shouldn't. But I do."

She glances up,

"Jealous of who?"

I sigh,

"James."

She lowers her eyes, and I go on,

"He is out there changing the world, making a difference, living his life, and I am stuck here, and I am utterly useless, and I am not good enough for him, I will never be. No one is."

She shakes her head,

"You are not useless Rose."

I shake my head and she grabs onto my hands, voice indignant,

"No listen to me Thorne. You are not useless."

I nod my head, eyes saddened, she sighs, voice ironic,

"Mum is so busy with the ministry, and so is dad, so I have had to take care of Rose and Hugo on my own at school, you know?"

I nod my head, and she goes on, voice trembling,

"And I don't blame them, they are doing great things, but there are other great things they could do like pay attention to us sometimes, you know? Everyone says Hermione Granger is the best person ever, but I don't know that person, I just know this tired, worn thin woman. And she is the best mom I could ever ask for. I'm not complaining. I'm blessed."

I stare at her, and she tilts her head to the side, sniffling,

"It's just sometimes she values knowledge, and making a bigger difference than little old me, and that's fine, because one person's life compared to millions cannot even be compared, and I get that, but, I don't know how to comfort Rose and Hugo, no one ever taught me how to tell them it will be okay when I don't think it will be."

She clears her throat, and flicks her wand, grabbing the tissue out of thin air and blowing her nose. And goes on, voice trembling,

"My mom is the best thing that has ever happened to me, she is just so good at it, you know? The whole mom thing, but she can't be here, you know, at school, because she has a job, so I have to hold Hugo and make up excuses about Dom, excuses I don't believe, and I am not good at it. The whole mom thing. I suck at it, in fact."

She laughs, soft, letting go of my hands and wrapping them around her frame.

"And I keep making mistakes and Hugo is so young, and Rose won't stop crying so I have to be strong for her, I have to show her I'm not crying just as much, and it's tiring you know? In fact it's exhausting. I'm exhausted Rose, god, I feel so tired."

She wraps her arms around me, and leans into me, tears falling. I pat her head softly, hand in her hair,

"Why don't I talk to them instead? Hm? I may be just as bad, but I can give it a shot,"

She glances up, eyes wide and smiles wide, throwing her arms around my shoulders, and I laugh soft, and she does to, her voice a murmur,

"Thank you Rose. Merlin you are incredible."

I laugh again, and wrap my hands around her, patting her on the back. We ended up on the floor that day. In a pile of pillows, blankets and candy wrappers, and friends. And as they fell asleep I stared up at the ceiling and I wondered how long it takes to forget. And if I want to forget. And if the thought of maybe wanting to forget is mean. Because I don't mean it to hurt her. No Dom. I mean it to care for you, it's just you hurt. The idea of you, the memories of you, all of you. And it kind of sucks, this life, these days, mindless, endless, sad. The broken pieces of our four hearts mended each other's. And how could I know that this felt like the end of the world but the best days of my life were still coming. And that darkness is not absolute. And that I may live past 20, and that hope is the strongest force.

And that those great cities, art, music, forests, seas, nations, this great wide world is not just waiting for V but also for me. And that I have a future that is blindingly incredible. And that this is by far not the lowest point of my life. But it will be remembered as the first time everything fell apart. So we write our stories and we hung Roxy's pictures on the walls, and those precious moments that we carved in stone are only memories now. And the day is long. And my eyes are tired. And the past and the present is a blur of time. And I will not forget but I will remember. My eyes closed, and I let out a breath. And V squeezes my hand, her skin is warm, she is solid, she is real. And she was worth it. She was. And I am sorry Dom. But I made the right choice. And then I wonder if that makes me bad, if that makes me evil, if it makes me sadistic. And I don't know. I can't tell.

A week has passed. Days are short, some have 24 hours, some have a billion years, some of those minutes take way too long. And others are too fast. It is like time is on drugs. It's breakfast time. The stares have stopped. Mostly because Lucy is terrifying. V is screaming at me about how I wasn't supposed to right 80 pages for the essay on Thestrals, and how only 6 were required. Which I find amusing, 6 is a ridiculously small number, and plus with my lack of sleep, or more like my lack of interest to sleep because of the dreams of the forgotten, I have a lot more time on my hands, way too much time, so I was ready to go to 100 pages if it would kill the time.

The great hall is basically empty, it's pretty early, around 6 15 ish, and again, because V can't sleep well and I didn't go to bed. Whenever I blink I can see clear skin, changing faces. Horrors. So sleep has this scary connotation to it. I glance at the teachers table, and I stop walking. Teddy Lupin is back. He sits, eating mechanically, eyes half closed. He chews the food. He puts down the fork. He takes a sip of coffee. He repeats. His hair is a dark shade of grey, and his eyes are stormy. He must know. James must have told him. I swallow hard. And glance down. And walk on, head bowed, V gives me a puzzled look and murmurs,

"Did you just check Teddy out?"

I glance up at her and laugh, smiling wide and shake my head, face palming,

"Ew no,"

She arches a brow and gives me a shrug,

"Well I don't know, I think he's hot, definitely a better option than Mr. Longbottom,"

I grin at that and nod,

"Good point."

I drop my book bag onto the bench; it slams down with a loud boom, and wakes an exhausted Lucy up, with a long flow of colourful curse words and wide eyes. Roxy laughs slightly at her startled form. And winks at me from over her huge cup of coffee. I give her a strange look, and nudge Lucy with my index finger,

"What's up with you?"

She sighs and groans, rolling her shoulders back, as she wipes at her droll,

"I pulled an all-nighter trying to finish the Thestrals essay, I'm on page three,"

V snorts into her orange juice and splutters, Roxy full on laughs, V leans over me and whispers,

"Guess how many pages Thorne did,"

Roxy arches a brow and nibbles at some toast, and tilts her head,

"Hmm, ten? No, that's not realistic, thirty?"

I duck my head and scrunch up my nose, shaking my head, and whisper it,

"Eighty and a half,"

Lucy drops her mug of coffee, jaw unhinging, and then lets out a shriek as the hot liquid pours onto her legs, Roxy laughs, shaking her head,

"Why am I even surprised anymore?"

Lucy gapes at her, while swearing,

"Rose lend me your brain and patience for five minutes, or just lend me a couple pages of your essay,"

V snorts again and shakes her head,

"That's no longer an essay Lucy, it's a book."

I roll my eyes, and take out my wand, doing a cleaning spell for the coffee, and give Lucy a once over,

"How many cups of coffee have you had this morning?"

She scrunches up her nose and bites her lip,

"Fifteen, but that's not counting the ten expresso shots."

I face palm, and shake my head at her, and Roxy giggles,

"Poor Lucy you have been having a rough day."

She nods, face crumbling, as she bangs her head against the table,

"I have been having a rough day, someone else needs to take over positivity today, cause I am feeling very, very tired."

I roll my eyes and grab a glass of raspberry juice, rubbing her back with one hand as I take a sip,

"Don't bang your head on the table you'll just loose brain cells,"

Roxy clears her throat, grinning,

"She has no brain cells to loose Rose,"

At that Lucy screams and starts climbing over the table to strangle Rox, I watch them, a smile on my face. And pick up my book bag, dodging a flying piece of toast, getting ready to leave, but V catches onto my sleeve,

"Where you going?"'

I bite my lip and watch Professor Slughorn leave, cane tapping the floor. And lean down,

"I have something I need to discuss with Slugy,"

She glances at his retreating form, and arches a brow,

"What on earth would he know that you don't?"

I lower my eyes and sigh,

"I need to learn Occlumency."

She gives me a startled look.

"The skill to keep someone from your mind?"

I nod my head and sit back down for a second.

"I'm scared that the Forgotten and I are connected somehow. No. That's a lie. I am connected to them somehow."

She gives my hand a squeeze,

"Want me to come with?"

I shake my head, hesitating for a moment,

"Nah, it's okay. Plus he may have no idea, and if he does know it may take a while."

She nods, biting at her cheek, eyes concerned. She gives me a little nod,

"Be careful."

I smile back, eyes steady,

"I will."

I glance back at Lucy and Roxy rolling on the floor and I watch Teddy stand from the head table and come over to break it up. I stand and grab my bag and stop him. Skidding to a stop a couple feet before him, eyes wide, pulling on a fast smile, eyes inquisitive,

"Professor your back,"

He nods, eyes a little vacant, and then he recognises who I am and smiles slightly,

"Yes. I am."

There is an awkward pause, and I stare into his eyes, searching for something that I can see in my own eyes, a similar evil, glint, anything. But nothing recognisable can be seen. He gives me an odd look and nods his head,

"If you'd excuse me Miss BlackThorne I think your friends are going to strangle each other."

I nod. And he disappears behind me.

Slughorn's office is gloomy, deep in the maze of the dungeons. Mould and moss grow hand in hand, clawing at the walls architecture. I knock on the door softly. His voice is raspy; he is ancient, going on 90 years of age next year. Or so he says, no one can really tell.

"Come in."

The door creaks as it opens, and I smile brightly, he glances up,

"Ahh Rose, my darling, come have a seat, you don't have to knock,"

I smile wider, and close the door behind me, taking a seat on the other side of his desk. It groans under my weight. I lick my lips.

"I had a couple questions Professor."

He smiles wide, and adjusts his spectacles,

"Anything for you Rose,"

I nod my head,

"Let's say, hypothetically, if I was seeing visions of death, visions that come true, visions that were put in my mind by a bigger entity."

He gives me a long look,

"This is all hypothetical right?"

I nod my head, smiling,

"Of course Professor. All hypothetical."

He nods his head,

"Well it would depend on the bigger entity."

I tilt my head to the side,

"What if it was the Forgotten?"

He gives me a sharp look, and lowers his eyes,

"Then it would depend on how you opened your mind to them,"

I bite my lip,

"I don't understand what you mean,"

He nods his head and sits back, eyes locked on me,

"The mind is a complicated thing. The state of mind that a normal person has is protected by their will; if they are not vulnerable they cannot be let in, unless there is a connection, like a Horcrux, or a spell, a curse."

I lean forward,

"So you are saying I let them in."

He nods,

"Well yes, a part of you must be willing, even if it is a part of you you don't understand. Let's take Harry for example; he had a piece of Tom in his head, a Horcrux which gave him the desire to let Riddle into his head, to manipulate his senses. A part of him was against the majority of him."

I shake my head,

"But that's not it. In this hypothetical situation I was killed and brought back to life by them. Would that do it?"

He gives me a long look. And clears his throat, taking out his wand and uttering a lock spell, the door clicks shut. He bows his head,

"That would only work if the Forgotten were not alive. If the Forgotten are dead then they could get in the mind of someone dead, your mind is most vulnerable when you are dead, there is no will, no walls, no security, no thought. No want for anything. No need for anything. You take no side, no political belief, no enemy or foe. You are defenceless."

I feel my heart speed up. And he leans forward with me,

"But normally that is unimportant a dead person has no use of his or her mind, so invading it is pointless, but if there was a way of getting them, hypothetically of course, into that state of death, and then reviving, it would be very useful."

He tilts his head to the side, going on,

"But still even then, you would have to have a previous connection with the being, some sort of curse, something that ties you two as one. For example, hypothetically you would have to be an orphan for the Forgotten to get in your head, not saying that that kind of magic even exists because resurrection is impossible, but, if it was possible, ignoring the fact that it is a law of magic and cannot be deified, that would be how to do it."

I stare at him. Heart hammering. Defying the laws of magic. Resurrection. A life for a life. There is only one person who can do that. Who can deify the laws of magic. James. James can bring back a life for his own. James can. Why is that important? How are they related?

He leans back. I clear my throat, and go on,

"Okay, so if I was an orphan, which I'm not and I went through all of that, which isn't possible, how would I get rid of them from my head."

He stares at me, eyes narrowed, I go on,

"Would Occlumency work?"

He ponders the question and shakes his head,

"No Occlumency prevents people from seeing thoughts, feelings and manipulating them. Describe the situation in detail,"

I glance down at my knotted hands,

"They cannot see my thoughts or feelings, nor can they manipulate them, no they see through my eyes, and see what I see and hear what I hear, but they don't know how I react, unless I speak it, and they hear it through me."

He tilts his head to the side

"And the visions,"

I close my eyes,

"Visions of them that are so very vivid it is like I am there, in front of them, they take me out of my mind but my body stays behind, and I am left for dead, detached."

He shakes his head, laughing softly,

"That's not possible. Your mind doesn't work like that. Unless you are hypothetically taking drugs."

I stop. And glance up at him,

"Could that be it? I mean, not saying I take drugs, but is there a drug, or a spell that can remove you from your body for a period of time?"

He arches a brow,

"This is hypothetical right Rose? You know you are my favourite, and I won't tell anyone, but you seem very frazzled."

I swallow and pull on a small smile,

"Of course. Hypothetical."

HE nods his head and sighs,

"Yes. There could be something like that. Not one I am aware of, but it does sound plossible."

I nod my head, and go on,

"And what if I wanted to attack them back?

He glances up, and some part of my tone has changed, and I don't recognise it, but there is an anger, a bitter rage. He clears his throat,

"What do you mean by attack?"

I raise my chin,

"Get in their head, if they can get in mine can't I get in there's? Isn't that how it works, it goes both ways, not just one,"

He nods,

"Well yes. But The Forgotten are an entity, we have no idea how many of them there are, it could be a couple hundred or a million. And it depends if they are their separate unit or a singular unit."

I nod. Voice shaking as I go on,

"A couple weeks ago, hypothetically, my friend got attacked by the forgotten and I could see it, the forgotten closing in on him, I could see it from the forgotten eyes, I was in the forgotten, maybe I was the forgotten. I had a finger in my mouth, and my hands were clawing the walls and I begged for bread, and then I hunted them. And then I woke up. Covered in sweat and freaking out. And I thought it was a dream. A really bad dream, but it wasn't."

He stares at me; eyebrows scrunched together and nods his head slightly,

"Rose you have a strong mind, and perhaps you were in their heads, but the question is can you control them? Or were you just watching?"

I lower my eyes, voice scraping,

"I was cheering it on. I was hoping they would catch them. I was the one wanting them to die."

He clears his throat and ducks his head.

"You remind me of someone Rose. Someone who came to me and asked me what Horcruxes were. And I answered him. Honest. And I changed history and thousands of lives because of my answer. I made him invincible. I gave him an idea. I have since promised myself to not do the same thing twice."

He stands and walks around the table, I stand as well.

His voice trembles,

"You could be great you know,"

I glance up, eyes staring at his eyes. He shakes his head, voice soft,

"You could great do things, terrible things, but great,"

I tilt my head to the side; he steps closer, floating,

"Knowledge is power Rose."

I stare at him.

He goes on,

"If I tell you then you will be powerful."

He steps closer, I stand my ground,

"You told me and that makes me powerful."

He ducks his head, leaning on his cane,

"What are you afraid of?"

I lower my eyes, voice shaking,

"I am afraid of finding too little, too much, nothing at all."

He shakes his head,

"Then use it, you are powerful because you want, you need answers. You have a hunger in your soul Rose BlackThorne, a hunger for more, for justification, for freedom."

I shake my head, voice broken,

"I do not crave destruction I crave salvation,"

A smile on the ghostly skin, green eyes shining,

"Soon you will recognise to gain salvation, destruction must occur."

I look up and raise my chin,

"No. You're wrong. Why does everything have to be so radical? One option or the other, no in-between?"

He nods his head,

"That's just the way of the world."

I shake my head, slow,

"Not my world. Not the world I will create."

He steps back and sighs,

"You are scared of just how powerful you could be. And you are right you could use your mind and play tricks on them. You could. But it might destroy you. And is that destruction of your sanity worth the worlds salvation?"

I stare up at him. And I duck my head,

"I don't know."

He nods. And sighs,

"That's why I won't tell you. Good day Miss BlackThorne, please find your way out."

My steps are heavy, the door knob is cold, it clicks shut behind me, the dungeon is dark. My back hits the stone, my eyes wide, my breath shaking. And his words float in my mind. Echoing through me. Is it a sacrifice I can make? What about the wide world with its great cities and art and music and culture that is waiting for me, what about that? Is my happiness intact if I don't do it, can I cope with that guilt? Could I? Would I be able to? Will I be able to?

V finds me in the hallways, eyes inquisitive,

"What happened?"

A pause,

"Did he have any answers?"

I shake my head, eyes lost,

"No… He had speculation, but not fact, possible outcomes, possible truths, nothing solid, nothing substantial,"

She places a hand on my shoulder,

"Then why do you look so freaked out?"

I glance at her, my lip caught between my lip,

"Because it made sense. Somehow the guesses he made, I understood them."

She shakes her head,

"Rose, I know you and you haven't been sleeping, you work all night, and your hands are blistered and callused, your skin is cracked, but you don't stop. And then you dose off in class, you, who never would dare do such a thing, and you wake up and your eyes are wide and you are shaking and I can see ghosts dancing in your pupils and horrors in your irises."

I look at her, eyes wide, and she lets out a breath,

"I know you don't want to tell me because you don't want me to worry, to carry the burden, to have to be strong for you and comfort you. But I can handle it Rose. And I am your friend, and it's my job to take care of you, and I don't mind, hm?"

She searches my eyes, and sighs, smiling softly,

"You'll tell me when you're ready, and I'll wait for it, m'kay?"

I nod my head. Hands falling limp to my sides. She observes me for another minute. And when she speaks again her voice is soft,

"You will never let me down Rose. No matter what. You could lie and lie, and break me, but you would not let me down. Because I know you are always trying your best. You always try to do your best. And sometimes we can't achieve our best every time, and sometimes we fail. And that's just part of life."

She nods, and smiles wide, and sticks her tongue out at me, and I feel my lips turn up a little, just at the corners, and she giggles, voice soft,

"There's my girl. I've missed seeing that smile. It makes my heart hurt,"

I roll my eyes,

"You're ridiculous,"

She laughs,

"Am I? Hmm? Am I?! I dare you to repeat that sentence you bastard!"

I shriek and shake my head, hand going to cover my mouth, eyes wide. She laughs, but her smile drops slightly. And she opens her bag, pulling out the Daily Prophet and hands it to me, eyes sad,

"I picked up your copy for you since you weren't at breakfast when they dropped em off,"

I smile soft,

"Thanks…"

She nods her head, eyes careful, I give her a long look,

"What's wrong?"

She swallows hard and shakes her head,

"The headings, the articles, they, well they aren't very positive. There isn't much good news."

I scrunch up my nose and unroll the black and grey pages, eyes scanning the headlines. And I feel my heart sink. And there is a pain, because it hurts, because he is hundreds of hundreds of miles away, and how can I comfort him, how can I tell him that this won't last forever, that it will become memories, and will be forgotten, that he is doing his best too, but that sometimes we fail, sometimes we don't last that long, sometimes we break and crash, and that our best sometimes is not good enough, and that it sucks, and is going to be painful, and it is going to make us feel hardships no one will understand, or we will think no one will. Because that is life.

"James Potter goes under as D.A falls apart." "International disputes of power in the ministry of magic." "Leaked information that James Potter saved the corrupted Malfoy whore." "The Potter empire crumbles." "The nation needs new heroes." "Can the Chosen one save us twice?" "Grief makes us blind" "Forgotten attack again. "Death Eater rebellion rising with pure intent." "Greyback trial approaching. Will he be indicted or released?" "Hermione Granger is seen arguing with her husband, possible divorce?" "Albus Potter rumoured to be dating not just a guy, or a pureblood, but a Malfoy." "Harry Potter goes to court to testify." "Hogwarts left empty with no Headmistress." "Have the Potters finally been defeated?" "What's next?" "Who's next?" "When will they attack again?" "Can we trust the Potters with our children's lives?" "Is the law being revoked?" "Should the D.A exist?" "What about Democracy?" "Tyrants." "Potters." "fools." "Bastards." "The fallen chosen."

I rip the paper in two. The ink smearing my palms. V looks up startled. We are in Divination class, and I read the last sentence, on the last page. And my stomach turns. It reads.

"He Who Must Not be Named won the battle so the Potters were never heroes, they were just fools in the making."

The pages fall to the floor, and I place my head in my hands, eyes squeezed shut. V gives me a long look. And I turn to the person next to me. The seat is empty. It has been empty for weeks. About a month or two. But I can see, a child, a young boy, a handsome young boy sitting there, his hand running through his dark hair, golden eyes gleaming as I yell at him about the Divination Project. But there is no boy. There are no golden eyes. And I miss them. I miss him. And I can feel it, his pain, he is hurting, and he is all alone in a big scary world. And he does not have great cities waiting because he has already seen them, he has already moved on. So what is waiting for him? Who is waiting for him at home? Waiting forever, breathlessly, who? I am. I am waiting.

I lean back, and whisper into the air,

"James Potter hurry up I am starting to worry that you are not strong enough without me. Come back. I can't wait forever, I am afraid that I do not have that long. So hurry."

I close my eyes. And Trelawney walks over, eyes wide,

"You alright Miss?"

I glance up and smile soft,

"I will be. I'm just tired."

She tilts her head,

"Of what?"

I sigh,

"Of waiting."

She nods, and looks to the empty seat beside me, eyes crinkling at the edges,

"How is the project coming?"

I laugh softly,

"It's a disaster."

She nods her head, and smiles wide,

"Well since your partner is missing. Do it without him, and think back on what he was like and use that to complete it."

I nod my head and smile,

"Thank you professor."

She nods again and goes to leave, but pauses, and gives me a long look,

"I see guilt, and pain, and suffering, and a yearning for three words."

I glance up, eyes wide and splutter,

"What- what three words? I don't, I, what?"

She smiles,

"A yearning to hear three words. Eight letters."

I stare at her. She smiles.

"Unrequited love hurts more than you would like to admit right?"

I look down at my hands, and shrug my shoulders, fingers fidgeting.

She sighs and goes on,

"It makes you wonder why you are waiting if that someone will never come,"

I close my eyes, lashes long, and she nods her head a couple times,

"That pain, use it for your project, it would create a beautiful piece that I would enjoy grading. Goody day Miss BlackThorne."

I sigh and smile slightly. Roxy leans over from the desk to the right and arches a brow, chuckling,

"Did Trelawney just give you love advice?"

I nod. And she snorts,

"God that's depressing."

I laugh slightly and sigh, picking up the tea cup and peering into it at the brown mush with an exasperated look.

The library is full to the brim with books, the restricted section is easily found and I hand my teacher note from Mr. Longbottom for permission to find extra information on Hobsweed for an essay coming up. She smiles wide. And a hand lands itself on my shoulder, masculine, disgusting.

"I'm with her."

She nods and leaves before I can scream at him. I can already tell who it is. I glance up, eyes narrowed. Thomas. The guy from the hospital wing. Everywhere I look he is, he has been following my every move for days. Weeks. I grind my teeth together,

"I didn't know that we were this well acquainted."

He grins, eyes racking over me and I feel disgusting, like trash and push him off, eyes cold.

"Get in your lane idgit. We aren't friends."

He rolls his eyes, and I go the tall shelfs, grabbing a book, "The mind and its depths. Volume 2." I grab a couple other random elf and Herbology stuff to play it off. And go to a table, sitting down.

He sits next to me and grins wide,

"You should wear shorter clothes it's coming to summer."

I grind my teeth together. My voice snappy.

"I see you lack respect for both sexualities and woman. You disappoint Tom; I can call you Tom right?"

Thomas grins, scooting closer,

"OF course. Call me whatever name you think suits me best,"

I tilt my head,

"Then I choose to call you Jerk, Piece of Crap, Sexist Pig, a disgusting lowly swine, a blind fool, a modern day narcissistically hormone driven infant."

He blinks. And lets out a soft laugh,

"You're sexy when your swearing, no wonder Potter likes you so much,"

I bite my lip, eyes narrowing, book snapping closed. He goes on,

"What is it like to be Potter's woman?"

I laugh, eyes glaring into his.

"I have a question for you Tom, if I am Potters woman than is he my man? Or does the possession of a person only qualify for females?"

He scrunches his nose up,

"Well he has many woman, and your right, one cannot own a person."

I arch a brow,

"But you are saying he owns me? Aren't you?"

A nod,

"Well yes, but that's different."

I laugh again, high. And stare at the boy before me.

"I don't think it is. I am not an object to be passed around and bought by your words or James Potter's. Me and James are equals, because that's how relationships work, one person does not have more power or respect than the other."

I open the book again. He watches me read. And when he speaks again his voice is quiet,

"My God does not allow me to believe in gay rights."

I arch a brow, and shake my head,

"No. No Thomas you are a coward, you blame an entity that you have devoted your life and your heart to believe in, and at the first chance you throw him under the bus because you want someone to blame, you need someone to blame."

I turn to him,

"It is grotesque that you cannot raise your head and your level as a human being and stand for what you think is right. And if you think putting others beneath you is right, then why should I not put you beneath me? What stops me? My morality prevents me from doing so, but oh do my bones ache to put you underneath my feet."

He leans forward,

"My scriptures read that homosexuals are creations of the devil, that it is a choice they make, that they decide to love the same gender. But that is not right, how can you possibly say that is lawful?"

I sigh, and look him up and down,

"It was the year 2014 if I am not mistaken that gay marriage became legal. So I can say it is lawful, our Government says it's lawful."

He shakes his head,

"No, that's your government, your mudblood fools. Our government, our ministry has not passed such a law."

I sigh, and give him a long look.

"I would rather if you did not say the word mudblood before me."

He gives me a quizzical look,

"Why? It's what you are,"

I duck my head, teeth grinding together,

"Yes. Your right I am of muggle birth. But calling me mudblood is like me calling you white trash. It's rude. It's cruel and it may not have a law saying don't speak it, but it is understood in society that you don't. Because that era has passed. And the world has moved on. Even though you haven't."

He sighs. WE are silent. I shift my gaze back to the paper. His voice comes back, I sigh, head tilting to the side,

"I cannot face the fact that my God would have created such monsters like homosexuals, like Albus."

I give him a long look,

"Then who do you think created Voldemort? Or Bellatrix Lestrange? Or Greyback? Or you?"

He glances down,

"I don't know. Because he couldn't have. Could he?"

I look over the boy, and I can see a deep confusion in his eyes. I take his hand in mine, it is warm, but his skin is sickly, as if the sweat and the veins are weaved with evil. I swallow. Eyes finding his.

"I don't know. Your God and my God are different."

He watches me, careful,

"What's your god like?"

I smile,

"I don't have one. I look into the stars, and the past, and I read history, and I look and I search and I search and I cannot find one."

His eyes widen,

"That must be lonely. Not having the hope that he will always protect you,"

I shake my head,

"No. I think it is lonelier having to depend on someone, something you have never met. Having to believe so much in something, having to never recognise that even an entity may have flaws. It is exhausting to dedicate your life to something you cannot question, something you cannot judge, something you must defend with your bone, and your blood and your tooth."

He shakes his head,

"But he protects me. Always."

I arch a brow,

"How are you so sure your god is a man? What if your god has no gender at all, what if your god is gay? Or bi?"

He laughs, eyes dancing,

"Nah. He's a man. He has to be a man. IT just makes sense."

I sigh,

"Do you think I am less than you Thomas?"

He glances at me, and smiles soft,

"Only a little."

I roll my shoulders back, slamming the book shut,

"Why? In what way?"

He gives me a dumb look,

"Well for starters you're a mudbl- muggle, and you're a Ravenclaw, and your pretty, and well, you're a woman."

I stare at him. Mouth agape. I snap it shut, and arch a brow,

"Why does me being a Ravenclaw make me less than you a Hufflepuff?"

He gives me a long look,

"Because you're a woman, women aren't supposed to study books and rule the world and when you act smarter than me it makes me feel inferior. And I don't like that. Because that's not how it works."

I scrunch up my eyebrows,

"SO I am less than you because I am smarter than you? Because I am going to do more with my lfie than you will? Because I use my brain to my advantage?"

He nods. I laugh, hand going to cover my mouth, and eyes digging into his,

"You have got to be kidding me Thomas. Because that's ridiculous. I fact it doesn't even make sense. You don't make sense."

He watches me and then he is silent. When he speaks again his voice is hardened,

"Because you are pretty you become something men want, men look at, admire, because you are pretty you are James' woman. And being James' woman, when he has had so many, it makes you less than you could be if you had no man because you may think I am the only one who thinks this way, but James also thinks you are less, because you succumbed to his charm, you had no back bone, no resistance, you were weak."

I stare at him. And he goes on, voice a deadly whisper,

"So now you are like his whore. Is that what you want Rose? To be that to him, to the public?"

One. He stares at me. Two. My wand is in my hand. Three. I am past raging mad. I am past angry. I feel the bile rise in my throat, the hurt as if he had slapped me. And I stand. The chair falls back. My eyes don't water, I don't cry. I stand over him. Over a fool. And then the words come and they are bitter. And they taste foul open my lips.

"SO I am less than you because I am woman, because I am an intelligent woman, because I am pretty intelligent woman. Because I am a woman who was born as a muggle. But you are mistaken, you are less than me. For I am smarter than you, and I am too pretty, so much so that you would never have even a chance of getting a glance of affection from me. And I am of muggle birth and yet I will succeed so much farther in life than you ever will. And I do not need a god, or a man, or pureblood running in my veins to be respected. I do not need than false respect. I gain respect through I what I do, through who I am. So I dare you Thomas to call me a whore one more time. Because I will show you just how god damn smart I am. And how pretty I look when I dismember you painfully."

My wand rests at his temple. And his eyes hold a slight fear. Just a dash of it. And I go on, voice so soft that it is just a murmur of deadly accuracy,

"You are a coward, understand? You have no balls to stand up to a weak, little girl. So call me godless, and call me a sinner, and call me a whore. Go ahead, say them all again, put you don't have the guts to. You don't have the guts to look me in the eye. But I do. Because I am more than you will ever be. And your fascination with James and his love life needs to stop. Because one would start to think you are obsessed with him. And then someone might call you a faggot. And what a crime that would be for your bastard Christian ears."

He stands up and we are parallel, face to face. He narrows his eyes,

"You are pretty but you are dumb. You are dumb, understand?"

I can feel my anger rage, and I shake my head.

"No. you are mistaken, I am brilliant, and I am my own individual, and I am my own person with my own beliefs. I am the definition of the modern woman who has to still deal with your crap."

He steps closer, I don't flinch.

"Watch your mouth mudblood just cause your pretty and you have the Potters on your side does not mean I will not put you in your place."

I stare at him,

"What place?"

He arches a brow,

"Beneath me."

I grab the book and tuck it under my arm. And look away, eyes swimming with a rage.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt that under that pureblood name could be a good person. I did not choose for you to be a stereotype, I did not choose for you to come verbally assault me in the library during lunch, I did not decide to sit here and listen to you degrade me to the dirt beneath your shoe. I am now choosing to leave. I hope we never see each other again."

I turn but his voice stops me,

"Your image of the modern woman won't last. Soon you'll see that no matter how hard you weak females try it is a man's world, with Harry Potter at its head. And he goes down in history as the saviour, the chosen one. The chosen one was a man, not a feeble girl. You will be written down in history as James' side kick, you helped to greatness, but you did not achieve greatness. Because that's just how it is. That's how it always will be. You are nothing without Potter and you are nothing with him."

I freeze. And I feel my eyes close. A breath. A decision. A question. A question to me, what is my dignity worth, what is my future worth, what is my fist worth, what is my words worth wasted on an empty headed fool. Why try if they won't change their minds, why bother if they just put you down. If they cannot change, and they refuse to change why am I trying so hard? Because I need hope, because I am trapped in the school while James changes the world, because there is some truth to his words, because in history I will be James' helper, James' girlfriend, James' wife, James' hope, James' home. But I will not be in competition for greatness with him. Because he is already there, a legend. He has already created that image. Without James there is no one who knows my name, this disgusting boy would not be assaulting me in the library, and with him? There is him, there is them. But there is so much less than who I am. Because I will not become great through a man. I will not use his last name as a stepping stone to my future. Because that is cheating. That is cheating at life.

I do not turn around. My silence is a broken answer. My lips move, my voice rises, I am yelling, screaming at him, back turned,

"What about Hermione Granger? And Ginny Weasley? And McGonagall? And Bellatrix? And Tonks? And Lily Potter? And Andromeda? What about them? Without them we would not live in this world, not like this. Things would be different. And you dare, you dare to limit me to James, you dare to not just put me, but James beneath you, you dare because no has ever taught you that a child cannot be conceived without both a woman and a man working together, that there are great queens as well as great kings, that gender does not define social status."

I whirl on him,, grabbing onto his collar, wand forgotten, eyes wide,

"You have never been treated as the lesser party, you have never been told you are less because of who you are, because you are born with the wrong sexual organs so you cannot succeed, so you must depend on a man to get a glimpse of wealth, power, success. You will never understand what it is like to have to fight twice as hard to be respected."

I step closer, I can see the crowd forming, but I don't care. My fingers dig into his robes, biting at his flesh,

"I do not just have a vagina, I also have muggle blood in my veins, so because I was born without a family name, without a penis, I have to fight and fight, and never make a mistake, I have to try harder than you ever will because that's just how it is. The only blessing I was given is that I am not black. That I don't love woman. Because then I would have to fight eight times harder. For me its only four times harder. So I am blessed because I am straight? I am blessed because I am white? Does that sound right to you?"

He stares back, eyes angered, but mine are raging mad. And I can see Dom, Dom dead. And something snaps. Some sort of control of emotions, of dreams, of hopes, it breaks, it crackles, it falls to the ground. I shake my head, laughing, high, dark, mad, insane.

"You beat me down because it makes you feel better about yourself. Because you are upset that everyone hates you so much, because you feel wronged, because you cannot control the fact that you come from a pureblood family so everyone looks down on you. But you made a mistake today. You will regret it."

I step closer, tilting my head to the side,

"Because I did not look down on you, I said to myself that you can't judge someone on their ancestors past, you cannot judge someone on which family they were born into. Because it would be hypocritical. But I judge you now Thomas, for if I am the bottom of your shoe, you are the ground I walk upon."

I brush past him. Teeth grinding together in rage.

The wind is soft on my back ,the steps are long, and finally, I have reached the top of the astronomy tower where V has her all nighter tonight with most of the year. The days are long. They pass like this, and sometimes I need a break. A time off. And when I do get that time off it isn't worth it. I slept last night. All night. And when I woke up I was tired, because it wasn't a sleep, it was just a horror. I am tired of living. So the breeze is cold and it slaps me across the face. Waking me up. Making me think.

I feel my eyes close, the wall is cold, the wind rushes through my hair. I let out a breath. I can feel my fingernails cut into my skin. And with my eyes closed I can see them. The forgotten. They don't say anything. They sit. In a circle. Eyes closed. I can't see where they are, I don't know. The walls are tall. There is a darkness. I can feel it drawing me in. The darkness, the darkness is calling me. A voice cuts in,

"Having a nightmare or a hard day?"

My eyes fly open, and I stare at little Lily. She sits in the corner, book closed, green eyes curious. I smile softly, and relax my fists,

"Neither. Or maybe both. I don't really know."

She scoots closer,

"Do you miss him? I miss him."

I close my eyes and tilt my head back, eyes closed,

"Sometimes I pretend he is right here, and I can feel a happiness."

She sighs, and leans her head on my shoulder,

"Our lives are such a mess. I miss him when he is at school too, so nothing has changed."

I rest my hand on her shoulder, and let out a breath,

"There will come a time when he will be here every moment of everyday, it just hasn't arrived yet."

She shakes her head, eyes sad,

"No. There was a time he was here every day, but it has moved on. And he is gone. And is grown up. And he cares about things dad and mum care about. And I am all alone."

She lets out a sob, choked, and closes her eyes,

"You think he is good Rose. You think he will care forever. But he promised me that too. And I am his sister, and he has forgotten me. And it's not his fault, its someone else's fault, someone else's, someone like me."

She closes her eyes, voice soft,

"Sometimes I forget that he and I are related. He values everything over me, everything. And I should be okay with that. I should just sit here, at school and go to every day classes and focus. But why? Albus gets a piece of the power; James gets a throne, and me?"

She sits up, eyes red in anger,

"I get nothing. They say too young, they say too innocent, they say too little, they say not good enough, they say not James, they say not Albus, they say you're Lily. Your young, your small, you're a child. Our child."

She stands and shakes her head. She is small, and that common joy that I see has disappeared from her eyes, and she smiles at the sun and her smile has a sadness to it,

"They are keeping me safe. They don't think I can handle it. They love me and treasure me so they won't let me become a part of their world. Because they don't want to lose me."

She sighs, and turns to me,

"Be prepared. James will do that to you. He will treasure you, and shelter you, because that is all he knows, that is all he has ever known, that is how he cares, how he loves. He will take the burden, and he won't tell you why he is hurting, and he will shelter you from not just the world but himself."

I stare up at her, and she looks down,

"And it isn't because he doesn't think you are equals, it's because he thinks you are above him, you are better than him. When he loves something, it is entirely, and devotedly, and desperately. He will value you and your life, and your happiness over his own every time."

I stand slowly.

"Why are you telling me this?"

She turns to me,

"Because your different. I can see it in your eyes. You want something Rose. I can't tell what. Maybe you want love, or maybe you want power, or maybe you want success. But whatever it is, in those eyes I can see that you will fight for it, tooth and nail and blood will spill and you will understand it as a consequence. As a reason, as a reaction to the pain and the suffering and demolishing you caused."

I stare at her. Eyes wide. My breath shaking. She steps back, and lowers her eyes.

"I overheard Hermione and Harry talking. Talking about you. Do you know what she said?"

I stare at her. Eyes wide. And shake my head. She nods. And smiles soft. Going on.

"That James will fall in love with you because you are what he wants to be. Driven, smart, brave, beautiful and oblivious, respected, from nothing, with nothing, wanting more, and more, and more, never satisfied, until you get what you want. That James will fall in love with you because he wants to be like you. He desperately wants to be like you. He will not be able to resist, he will burry himself in your culture, your life, your world until he cannot breath and then he will breath you in and devour you whole."

I stare at her. Eyes wide. She shakes her head,

"I couldn't understand why Hermione would say something like that about you, because you are so nice, and your pretty, and you laugh and you make James' eyes light up. I couldn't get it."

I stare at the young girl. She steps closer.

"But then I saw it. I saw it Rose."

I stare at her, eyes confused,

"Saw what?"

She stares at me, eyes wide,

"Your hand Rose. You were in the library, asleep, and I saw your hand."

I stare at her.

"What was wrong with my hand?"

She shakes her head, eyes wide,

"Your hand was see through and James was in it, in your skin, in your skin Rose, and you were kissing him. I saw you kissing my brother in your veins. Now tell me, does that make any sense?"

I cannot breath. My hands are shaking. I back up. Eyes wide. And let out a gasped breath.

"I don't. What? Listen to me, Lily you must have seen wrong, you must have, there is no way, no way."

She stares at me, eyes brimming with tears. I take her hand

"Did someone give you a potion? Anyone?"

She lowers her eyes, and whispers,

"Fred gave me an ice cream cone, strawberry, but that's not the point,"

I stumble back. Eyes wide.

"What? No one else, like Thomas? A Slytherin? Fred?"

She stares at me, eyes wide,

"Listen Rose I need an answer, your hand was see through, are you, are you a forgotten?"

I shake my head, voice wavering. My mind scattered. I can see Fred on the train, eyes gleaming, my back shakes, it hits the wall, I can feel it spin, I can see the dreams, the forgotten, James, I can see James in the alleyway, I can see too much, too little, nothing at all. The dots on the paper are smeared and nothing makes sense. I am at wits end and I am lost in the oblivion of life. Everything is confusing. Everything is so confusing to me. Fred. Good. Kind. Jokey. No personality. A little tiring. He helps me eat dinner. He tells me jokes. His eyes are hard to read. But that doesn't mean anything is bad. I respect him. He is Fred. HE is James' Fred. Why am I lost? I can see there is something I am missing. And then I hear it. A whisper. In my bones. Aching against me, I can hear it, just a murmur,

"Oh Rose. You have gone blind. You only see what you want to see. You only see what you understand. But you don't get it. No one is your friend. We have you surrounded. Pinned in. Locked away. You will never be free. You cannot escape."

I open my eyes, wide, and stare at Lily before me. Her eyes are scared, her hands tremble, her eyes are wide,

"Rose I think you are a good person, but I don't think I am seeing things."

Eyes wide. I can see the world flying by. And I feel myself fall. Onto the ground. Boom. I blink. And I am gone. Sucked into darkness. And I can hear it. A whistle on the air. A tremble. I feel a tear fall. And my will power let go.

They rise like ghosts, like hell. They are in a graveyard. I am walking forward. The graveyard has names on it. I cannot move. The names carve in stone are James and Lily Potter. Harry's parents. And something. Somewhere in my brain clicks. This is important. Why is this important? What does this mean? It means something bigger than me. And then I blink and I forget it. I am gone, and I am at a little old house, and I am sitting in a room with Molly Weasley and Arthur Weasley, and then my hands are wrapped around their throats, and I am crushing their hearts in my fists. And I am laughing. I can feel the blood drip down my wrist.

Then I am in a cage, suspended above the ministry, James is there, he is binding me in shackles, eyes cold, he takes out his wand. He blinks. He starts the incantation, I try to remember the words. They fly be me like the breeze, my eyes shake, my hands scramble, a blink, a curse, a whisper, everything falls apart. I watch it fall. I watch it in horror. His eyes are cold. He blinks. I feel it. Pain. Pain like no other. Everything is red. My bones break, I hear clapping, Harry stands and they follow him, champagne bottles pop, I whither, I scream his name, I scream it, and then I see me, I stand next to him, and I reach up, arms around his neck and kiss him, head tilted to the side, and I can see a smile. I am proud. But why? I am dying. Help me James. James help me. I am dying. Help. A blink. And the pain is crippling and I watch it, James looks back, and he watches me and I can see disgust on his face, and he spits, and I crumple, I look at my hands, clear skin turning to red, turning to flesh and then the flesh burns, and I am dying. He killed me. HE enjoyed it. I am not enjoying dying though. I cannot enjoy dying.

I open my eyes. And sit up. My hands shake. And I scramble for my back pack and a pencil and then I am drawing and writing everything I can remember, my hands shake, I watch one of the calluses burst, and blood pours down my fingers and I wince. Eyes wide. And let out a sob. Falling back onto the ground and I let out a scream. At the top of my lungs, it echoes in the air.

The tears are hot and I watch them fall, hands clawing at my skin, eyes wide with fear. My hands were see through. What is justice? When you have seen both sides, when you walk the devils path and you sympathize what is justice? What is promise? What is sides? What is law? What is the value?

I cannot defend the Forgotten but how can I hate them when I understand then so well. So they make me sympathize. They use my mind against me, they drive me insane, they rip my head from my limbs, and they kill me, its what they are good at after all. I stand. Slowly. And Lily wraps her little arms around me, her gaze is soft and so is her voice,

"What happened to you Rose? What happened?"

I stare at her, and I feel my face crumble, I shake my head, voice soft,

"I've been having a hard time."

She takes my hand in hers,

"Why?"

I close my eyes,

"I will never be the same. I will never recover from this."

She stares up at me,

"Why not?"

I blink close,

"Because life is tiring, I am tired. And I am weak. And I am loosing control."

She looks up at me, eyes scared,

"Control of what?"

I close my eyes, I can see blood, red, dark and crimson, dripping over cobblestones. I blink them open. And stare at the clear sky.

"Of myself. Control of myself."

She lets go and stares at me,

"Control is overrated."

I smile down at her and ruffle her hair,

"Is it?"

She nods her head,

"Sometimes we think being perfect is the best option, but we are wrong."

She closes her eyes and leans into me, going on,

"James is perfect but he hates it. You try to be perfect and cannot achieve it. So,"

I cut in,

"So I should just give up?"

She shakes her head,

"Not exactly, but you shouldn't hurt yourself by trying too hard."

I bite my lip,

"Do you think that's what I'm doing? Trying too hard?"

She walks away, to the edge of the tower and gazes out at the sunset, and I watch her hair rise and fall like flames and she shakes her head.

"I think you are doing better than your best, but even that won't cut the bare minimum."

I laugh, and let out a breath, walking till I am beside her,

"And what makes you think that?"

She smiles up at me,

"Because you are a mess. And you do have people who care about you. And your skin was clear. I am not seeing things. But I still trust that you say it wasn't because you are a good person. So I believe you. Because you can make James' eyes smile. That's why I believe you."

She smiles up at me and extends her hand,

"We should go to dinner, you should eat something,"

I grin, soft, and feel a tear fall, she stands on her tip toes and wipes it away,

"I'm sorry I yelled Rose. I shouldn't have. I should have understood you. And trusted you."

I stare at the little girl before me. She has a pretty smile. And big, hungry eyes, and she enjoys the world very much, and she misses him, and life, and she wants success too. So maybe she is like me. Maybe we are similar. Maybe. We take the stares down. But I pause and look out at the world for just another moment. The stars blink to life, I watch them with a fascination. And I grin. I need happiness, maybe I just need to live in the moment, my time I running out, my life is running out, so maybe I need happiness more than anything. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

V waves at me. My hands are healing. Thomas follows me everywhere I go. A shadow. Creeping against the walls, eyes dangerous, a gleam of anger, he is one step behind, a step in front, to my right or my left, just seconds from touching me, at arm's length, he watches me, eyes narrowed. And I can see regret, regret for what he will do to me. And he will regret. And regret. And regret. But it won't change anything. Why would it? What can life change? Pain? Suffering? All one in the same. Death still comes. He will still come. And torture is development. And if it wasn't for Thomas or Fred, or people like them I might have lived longer, might have made a difference, might have done something. Made my life worth it. I didn't though. So I am useless. Oh well.

She takes my hand, and weaves it through her own,

"I'm gonna go to dinner, you coming or nah?"

I shake my head, eyes tired,

"I'll go up to the dorm,"

She nods her head and pauses me,

"I won't be there all night, you gonna be okay?"

I raise an eyebrow,

"Where will you be?"

She groans, and hits me over the head,

"Stop mocking me Thorne, I have to do all the makeup classes all night with the rest of the year in astronomy. And you, Madame Studious decided to not tell me when you did them as individual work last week."

I grin at her,

"You're never gonna let that go."

She shakes her head,

"Why would I? It is really upsetting you traitorous human being!"

I roll my eyes and wave her away,

"Enjoy your all nighter hun, make sure to stock up on the coffee for Lucy, or she might get so intolerable Roxy will kick her off the tower,"

She sighs,

"I might kick them both off the tower."

I clutch my heart

"Then I would have to kill you for vengeance and that is so tiresome,"

She grins,

"Good point crazy. Enjoy another sleepless night,"

I huff,

"Your dark humour does not amuse me."

She grins,

"Yes it does, liar,"

I scrunch my nose at her, and she laughs, smile wide,

"You'll be fine hun. Promise me you'll be fine."

I grin back, slowly, tentatively,

"I promise I'll be so much better than fine, I'll be great,"

She smiles, soft,

"You better be, or else I'll set Lucy on you and her positivity will drive you maddddd,"

I roll my eyes,

"You better not!"

She laughs again and waves me away, eyes caring, and then they shift, and she pauses, smile falling and I follow her gaze, Thomas. He stands beside me. Hands in his pockets. Grinning wide, ear to ear, eyes wicked, I can see the glint. A threat. And he waves too, teeth grinding together.

I take a step back and I can feel it, a tremble of fear, for just a second. But then it is gone. Maybe if there wasn't so much on my mind. Maybe if I wasn't going insane. Maybe if I wasn't looking for hope. Maybe if I payed attention I would have noticed that Fred stood beside him, beside Thomas, almost invisible, almost not there, eyes down, hand deep in his pockets, red hair covered in a hoodie. Maybe if I had noticed that I wouldn't have done what I did. When you think back you think back to a million things. A million ways you could have changed it. And you make mistakes. And you recognise them. And then it is too late. And it is over. I made a mistake. I didn't see the red head, I didn't see the strawberry ice cream, I trembled because I was losing my mind, because at some point it became an excuse, if I am losing my mind I can focus on just that, can give up on everything else. I shouldn't have. And we learn our lessons the hard way. And we are a mess. Why? Because I will never be the same. Never. I should be the same, I wish was the same. I walked up the stairs, I answered the riddle, I opened the door.

It's dark in the dorm, I light a candle, closing the door behind me, it creaks shut. I pull out my ear buds and hum the song to myself, eyes closing and I spin, and do a little waltz step and giggle. And then I sigh. Dom taught me to waltz. Dom this. Dom that. Dom everything. Where do problems begin? Where do they end? Is everything repetitive, does everything matter and add up to something bigger? Better? Scarier?

My bag falls from my shoulders to the ground with a thump. A sigh. Pulling out some big library books on the mind, on accessing ones thoughts. I stare at the books worn cover and trace it with a long finger. And close my eyes. The darkness is comforting, so is the alone, loneliness is welcomed. All my life I have been alone. I have friends, but I cannot tell one person everything. Not everything. Everything is too much. I place the book on the desk, scattered with dreams I have had, all written down, and scratched into paintings and smudges on scraps of paper. I pull out the binder of ones for today. Today I saw a little boy in an orphanage being bullied. A little girl hitting a cat with pebbles. I saw dark alleyway full of rats and dung. I saw a death eater, murmuring about the rebellion. Some days I see important things. Some I see unimportant things. So how do I differentiate as to what is important or not? How do I know that that little boy is not the next Voldemort? The next Harry? How could I know? How could I ever know?

I blow out my cheek and drop them onto the table, going to the window and spreading open the drapes so I can get a good breeze and see the stars. I take off my robes, and loosen my school tie, fixing a wrinkle in my skirts hem. I kick my shoes off and let my hair down, soft on my back. I close my eyes, and set down the candle. The flames dance. And then I hear it. A breath, a soft groan, a soft voice, a voice I have missed. Just a whisper.

"Hey Rose…"

I glance up. He sits in the corner. Head hung in his hands, eyes searching for mine in the darkness. I close my eyes and take a steely breath.

"James…"

He lowers his head and smiles softly, a little cracked, and he tries to laugh but it breaks off. I step closer. My hands falling to my sides.

"Why are you here?"

He looks up at me, and shakes his head, his eyes hold an emotion I have never seen on his face.

"I missed you."

I feel my heart skip a beat. And I feel my feet shuffle forward. Just an inch. My voice is soft,

"What happened?"

He shakes his head. Lowering his eyes, I can see a redness rimming those gold eyes; dark circles stain his clear skin. There are bruises lining his knuckles. He goes to stand but collapses back to the ground and laughs, eyes broken. It isn't because it's funny it's because he is scared. He shakes his head. His shirt is white, see through, hanging off of defined muscles; his hair is tossed and tangled on his head. He must have been sleeping. Or going to sleep. He smells like James. He smells like home. He bangs his head on the wall, face covered in the shadows of our twisted darkness, and I can see tears in his eyes, his voice catches,

"I'm tired Rose. I haven't been tired in years."

I step closer and kneel down, taking his hand in mine, his fingers are long and as soon as we touch he reacts with a desperate need, hand wrapping around me, fingers colliding, his fingertips run over my skin, eyes wide, his nails are cut short, his hands are clean, I close my eyes, the darkness surrounds us. I can feel his body heat; I can feel his sadness, in my bones, in my soul. And I want to lean closer, to tell him that I missed him too. Because I did. I missed you so much that seeing you makes butterflies tare flight, and my cheeks flush, and my breath shake and goose bumps erupt on my arms, running over my skin. You make my eyes close, you make them flutter. You pull me closer with just a breath. I can remember your lips. I remember them. They were soft, sweet, delicious, royal, glorious, they were- but I don't say that. Any of it. Because he is broken on the floor. And he is reaching for me. And that isn't what he wants to hear.

I open my eyes, my long hair falling into my face, the strands tickle my cheek bone, I lower my lashes,

"Why are you tired?"

He laughs again, eyes closing; mouth a grimace, eye brows pulled together, his fingers drawing circles on the back of my hand,

"I can't sleep. I can't. I refuse to."

He stands, his hand slips from mine and I watch my hand fall limp to my side. And I can feel a pain, an uncertainty. He turns around, running his hand over his face, desperately, he is trying to pull himself together, to be strong, he is trying to put the mask back on. His hand gripping the wall. His eyes wild. His lip caught between white clear teeth. Adams apple bobbing. Tongue running over teeth. I lower my gaze. I stand slowly. I feel my weight shift from foot to foot. I feel my breath catch. Once. Twice. I clear my throat. Voice soft.

"Why not?"

He gives me a long dark look, I can see layers peeling away, like old paint, I can see a flash of a little boy, and a grown man who is worked bone weary, I can see a dark creature, and a beautiful humour, painted like a masterpiece he is a broken piece of art. The paint is flesh, and the skin is scared, and he is angry, he is hurt, he is lonely, he is tired, he is exhausted of living. He sighs, back hitting the stone.

"I'm scared if I close my eyes they will never open again. Because I don't want them to open again. I'd rather they didn't."

I can feel the thud of my heart. And I feel my fingers retract and then go forward. I shift, foot to foot, eyes wandering in the darkness. I want to say me too. That if I close my eyes I become a murderer, and that I saw you almost die, and I wanted you to die. And that I am losing my mind. And that I just need someone to understand.

He observes me, gaze sharp, I feel his eyes rack up and down my body, inspecting, relieving, glancing, long, intense. It is hot. The feeling of his eyes on flesh. He can see it my fear. My worry. My love. He reads me like a picture book, he props a foot against the wall, and watches me, eyes never blinking, never leaving my face. I blush. I can feel it, a light flush rising over my skin.

He looks away. Down to the ground. He clears his throat. He is distant. He is no longer my James, he is James Potter. He is different. He has responsibility. He is a legend in the making. His eyes meet mine again, brief, in flashes,

"I should get going."

I nod. Eyes finding the floor. Head bowed. He leans off of the wall, and I can see his eyes close, just a second, and he will be gone. And I miss him. But this whole love thing is new to me. I clear my throat. Hair slipping over my shoulder. Eyes wide. Rimmed with the fear of being alone with him. Just us. And the darkness hints to things I don't understand. And I can feel a want. Teeth caught. The words caught in my throat, sticking, just a gasping whisper, just a murmur in the dark.

A word. A meaning. A home. A home in my arms. Maybe that's what he needs. Lips parted. A deep breath, eyes sticking to the floor boards, weight shifting, lashes long, fingers scrunched. A cold sweat.

A word. I say it. My tongue moves. My voice speaks.

"Stay."

He stops. There is a tremble in the air. A tremble and I can feel a hesitation. I clear my throat again. And glance down and then up. Eyes widening. And I let out a nervous laugh and shake my head, another murmur,

"Never mind, what on earth was I thinking? I don't know, it's just you look so sad, I don't want you to be sad, you know? Cause I care, or at least I think that that is what I am feeling, caring or, or loving, you know? Something, kind of, like that, and then I thought that you-"

He breaks me off, his movements are sudden. He grabs onto my waist and pulls me close, head dropping onto my shoulder, hands clawing at my robes, wrapped around my slim frame, he collapses against me. His voice is muffled. A little scared, a little tired, a little sad, a little broken. And this is bravery. This. Standing in each other's arms in the darkness with the Forgotten watching on. His hands are soft, his breath is sweet. His shoulders are heavy, weighed down by the world. His lips are warm; his skin is scared, is cut and bruised. I cannot pretend to know the challenges he is facing. I know only that he needs time. That he is afraid. That being afraid is something knew to him. And that all he needs is to stand by my side. To hold me. To breathe me in. To sleep in my arms and wake up in my eyes. Because he needs someone who understands. Understands him. Because he is lonely. And he doesn't have a V, and a Roxy and a Lucy. But I do. And he can have me. Because I know what it is like to be lonely, being lonely sucks. And he deserves better. Better than this life. And maybe I am that better. He is suffering. He is tired because he is trying to do the impossible; he is trying to save the world. But we are mere children. So how can we?

His voice is muffled, a still, a breath, words pour, a request, a desperate request is what those words form. Voice hushed,

"Can we stand like this for a little while?"

I close my eyes. I can see the headlines, James Potter attacks fellow D.A members, Teddy Lupin returns to Hogwarts, James Potter gives a speech on civil rights, No comment on the Forgotten, The Potters have no control, The Potters are not our heroes, We need to find a new saviour. I wince. I relax my shoulders, hands slowly rising and wrapping around him, he shakes, ever so slightly. And then I hear it. A sob. And he pulls me closer, into him. Hands desperate. For love. For recognition. For appreciation. His face crumbles, he is silent, gasping for air, he tries to speak, but there is no sound. Sound is not necessary. I can feel his heartbeat, it pounds, racing away, running on adrenaline, caffeine, alcohol.

My hands run through his hair. Each lock is soft, each lock has a memory, has worth, has a beauty, has a sadness. My shoulder grows wet. The tears are hot. They are comforting. And we stand. And we watch the darkness grow, the sadness grow, and disappear, and swell. And there is a grieving to living. There is an irony to living. Because life is supposed to blow us away. James is supposed to blow us away. James is supposed to be the hero. But no one ever asks if the hero is okay, if the hero will ever be okay. Because the hero forgot to breath, forgot to love, to care, to hurt. The hero grew so used to pain. That pain was normal. And loss was just a part of life. And death made sense. No one ever wonders if the hero is human. If the hero cannot handle it. Because the hero has to. If the hero can't, than who can? Who can?

His hands wrap around me, and every now and then he pulls me closer, fingers digging into my hair, getting lost in the long strands, I let out a breath, eyes closing, and I lean into him too. Head resting against his own shoulder, hands running through his hair, arms reaching up around his shoulders, eyes opening every now and then to look at the fallen boy in my arms.

Time passes slowly. Eventually he is silent. All is quiet. And in the distance I can hear the scrape of chairs and plates as dinner ends. A breath. A broken sound. He leans into me and I lean into him. His hands are tight, snaking around my waist, my hands are soft, my embrace is warm, I draw circles on his back. I pause. And smile, ever so slightly. I start to write. My fingers tracing the words. I feel him blink. And he shivers at my light fingertips touch. As I run my finger up and down. Whispering,

"What letter?"

His voice is broken.

"I."

I nod, and write the next letter.

"L"

I grin, and run my finger in a circle shape over and over,

"O"

I nod again, and bite my lip, writing the next one, up and down,

"V"

I smile again, leaning closer, finger curving to draw the upper case letter.

A breath.

"E"

I feel a soft chuckle from him. I laugh with him. The sounds are soft. It is the blooming of a new bond. A new trust. Something new. Something precious.

I smile, my eyes shine, the stars glow for us, the darkness has become familiar,

I run my finger in a semi-circle, standing on my tip toes ever so slightly to complete it, I feel him smile against my skin, voice deep,

"U"

I nod my head. And clear my throat, blushing. Lashes long. A stupid smile on my face.

"What does that spell?"

He grins; I can feel the whisper of soft air on my collarbone,

"I love you."

I feel my cheeks flush. And I splutter, eyes squeezing shut,

"What?"

He steps back, hands running up my sides and over my arms, cupping my face in his large hands, his gaze is steady, I can see tear stains, and a trust, a deep engrained trust in his eyes, and something else a different emotion, it is a golden bronze, a new fire. He traces my cheek with his thumb, as he looks down at me and I look up at him, and he ducks his head, stepping closer, eyes finding mine, he doesn't blink. His mouth moves. Words come out of it.

"I love you."

I stare at him. Eyes wide. And look down, and clear my throat. He smiles, eyes shining, his finger slips underneath my chin, and tilts my head back up, eyes glowing with a joy, a joy that is contagious. He leans forward, head tipping to the side, lips millimetres from my ear, and his arm slips around me, running up my spine.

His fingers trace letters, in a smooth cursive fount.

I clear my throat slightly, and smile, heart racing. His index finger runs up, long, a seductive caress, a whisper,

"I"

He whispers into my ear,

"Yes."

And goes on, fingers curving into a word, a blink down, cheeks hurting from grinning. My ears grow red. I can feel my breath catch, a shiver runs over me. His breath is offaly distracting. His cursive is an art form, and I lean into it, his embrace. I murmur it.

"Love"

He leans closer, air hot on my skin, and nods, going on,

He spells out a three letter word. It starts with Y and ends with O. His fingers doing summersaults on my spine. I blink down. And then back up, he steps back and looks down at me, and I look up, eyes wide. His voice is a whisper, his eyes are true, and there are no layers, there is only just this boy and I, with our hearts on our sleeves, and our pulses speeding up.

"What does that spell?"

I smile,

"I love you. It spells I love you."

He nods, and steps closer,

"And why do you think it spells that?"

I glance down and then back up, eyes hopeful, eyes wide, hands fidgeting,

"Because you love me."

He nods, and grins, eyes never straying from mine. And I have never seen those eyes this happy. This real. The gold catches on fire and burns like a beacon of hope and I am lost in it. He chuckles, hands finding mine,

"Who wouldn't love you Rose BlackThorne? You were born to be loved, by everyone and everything. Who could possibly resist you? Your smile it, it awakens something in me, a want to live, not just for today but for tomorrow too, and the day after that, because there is no amount of time that would be enough with you."

I cover my face with my hands, and his hands follow me up, as I still hold them in my, and his fingers brush against my cheek, and those cheeks are blushing crimson, and he laughs with me, grinning. I glance up at him, and he smiles, lips turning upwards,

"Would you do me the incredible honour of being my girlfriend?"

I bite my lip, and pretend to ponder it and shake my head. He looks at me in horror,

"What? Listen Rose I will do everything I can to be a good person and I"

I step forward, and go on my tippy toes, putting a finger to his lips, leaning next to his ears,

"Just kidding you dummy, of course, of course I'll be your girlfriend."

He glares at me and shakes his head, eyes burning into me, I laugh at his expression and duck my head, sticking my tongue out at him as I back up, arching a brow, and he shakes his head, walking after me, and I run away, hands outstretched, he grabs me from behind, arms wrapped around me, and rolls his eyes, I turn around and look up at him, defiant. He grins and pokes me on the nose,

"My little fire cracker."

I glare at him, hands going to my hips,

"I'm not little you jerk!"

He smirks at me, hands going to his pants pockets and arches a brow,

"You're peanut sized. A peanut sized atomic bomb."

I scrunch my nose at him and giggle,

"Fine. I am tiny but I can't control it okay, it's just in my jean pool, you know? Not everyone gets blessed with your incredible looks, okay, you are like next level super model and I am like Russian doll. The gap between us in the beauty department is not even funny, and you wouldn't get it anyways, cause you are like six what?"

He steps forward and places his hands on each of my shoulder and shakes his head, eyes full of wonder

"You just don't get it Rose BlackThorne,"

I glance up,

"Get what?"

He laughs softly,

"That you are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. I am captivated by the very air that slips from your lips, I am interested in the earth you walk upon, each strand of your hair is worth my life."

I glance down and I can feel my tomato blush coming for me. And he grins, ruffling my hair,

"You're just a peanut sized goddess. And I like that your peanut sized."

I look up at him, eyes wide.

He leans closer, licking his lips,

"I like that I have to lean down to do this."

He leans down and kisses my forehead, lips brushing skin I feel my eyes close, and a small smile slips onto my face. Lips upturned.

He leans closer,

"I like that I can do this."

He pulls me closer, hand snaking around my waist and pulling me close, resting his chin onto the top of my head. And he chuckles, body vibrating,

"I like that you are tiny. Because we fit like puzzle pieces."

I tilt my head up.

"Is that your way of saying fate put us together?"

He shrugs a shoulder,

"Why not? Is that something cool, chill, emotionless James Potter would not say?"

I nod my head, rolling my eyes,

"Yes. But I like emotional James Potter more."

His smile falls,

"Why?"

I step closer and take his hands in mine,

"Because it shows just how much you care about me. No one looks at me like you do. Like I'm some sort of treasure that is precious, beautiful. It makes me blush."

He smirks, gesturing to my face,

"I can tell."

I cover my face with my hands. And peak at him between my fingers and he smiles, and sighs,

"God you're irresistibly adorable. Its' not fair,"

I duck my head,

"It's not fair?"

He shakes his head,

"It's not. At all. Like not even a little bit."

I roll my eyes,

"Alright mister tough guy,"

He glares at me,

"Are you mocking me right now?"

I arch a brow,

"Maybe. Why? What are you going to do about it?"

He steps forward and opens and closes his mouth. And then shakes his head.

"I give up."

We are silent for a minute and he looks at the doors.

"Aren't they coming back from dinner?"

I arch a brow and glance up, and shake my head,

"Nope. Our whole form has astronomy all night since Professor hasn't been here for the oast 2 weeks."

He sighs, and looks down,

"Then you should get going,"

I laugh and shake my head,

"Nope, I haven't been able to sleep so I got ahead on astronomy so I didn't have to do it. V was so betrayed. I didn't even tell her."

He glances down.

"Then I should get going."

I look down and nod and he watches me, and his voice is soft,

"But I'd rather stay."

I glance up. He looks to the bed, and then at me,, he tilts his head to the side,

"They won't be back tonight, will they?"

I shake my head,

"No they won't be."

He backs up, chin raising, and flops onto the blue sheets, ankles crossing, hands behind his head, head cocked,

"Then it'll be just us. Won't it?"

I glance down,

"Yes. It would be."

He grins,

"Maybe I should stay,"

I glance up,

"Maybe you should leave,"

He nods his head, eyes narrowing slightly,

"Why? Scared?"

I nod my head,

"Yes. I am."

He moves his hands, opening them wide,

"Don't worry I'll be here to protect you,"

I arch a brow,

"To protect me from yourself?"

He raises his eyebrow in sink,

"What is the worst I could do?"

I lower my eyes,

"You could push me too far."

His arms drop to his sides,

"What signifies too far? Where is the line drawn? What do you consider not possible?"

I glance back up, his eyes are serious,

"A lot of things. You. Me. A bed. Things like that."

He sits up slightly,

"Why? Do you think I am that kind of guy?"

I lick my lips, eyes shifting away,

"People talk. I may not listen to what they say, but I am no idiot."

He nods his head,

"Then it comes down to if you trust me."

I glace up,

"No. It comes down to if I trust myself to trust you."

He shrugs his shoulders, voice soft, eyes steady,

"I can't sleep Rose. I try, I try sleeping droughts, spells, exhaustion, exercise, no caffeine, nothing works,"

He runs his hands through his hair,

"I think I could sleep if I wanted to wake up."

He looks up at me, eyes golden in the darkness,

"I would love to wake up to you, hair askew, lips pressed together, eyelashes long, steady breathing, maybe some hand holding."

I step closer. A soft step. No more than that. He goes on,

"I can't bear to close my eyes, I can't keep them open, I am a walking corpse, I need sleep, I need it, but I can't get it. And I am exhausted. And I can't focus because my head and heart are pounding, and that isn't normal for me, it isn't, you hear me?"

I step closer and nod my head. Clearing my throat slighty, voice soft.

"Stay."

He stares up at me, and then he smiles and my heart jumps, and my cheeks flush. He tilts his head,

"I'd be honoured to."

I laugh softly, and walk towards the bed, grabbing onto his hand and yanking him off. My eyes following his movements.

I grab the many pillows and start lining them in the middle of the bed, forming a barrier, I take out my wand and give them a couple taps to keep them in place, becoming semi solid. He stares at me. An eyebrow arched, voice indignant,

"What are you doing?"

I arch a brow,

"Making a barrier. I sleep on this side, you sleep on that side. Tada!"

He ducks his head, scrunching his eyebrows together, and laughs soft,

"Are you serious right now?"

I scratch my head and glance down,

"Duh, do I look like I am joking?"

He shakes his head and sighs,

"I am a big person Rose, your bed is tiny, I won't fit on just half,"

I narrow my eyes at him, hands going to my hips,

"Then you can enjoy the lovely floor,"

He grins and steps closer,

"Or you can get rid of the ridiculous barrier."

I raise my chin,

"Why should I?"

He rolls his eyes,

"Because it's no fair."

I giggle,

"Why isn't it fair?"

He pouts,

"Cause it's no fun."

I put on an innocent face,

"And why would sleeping be fun? Unless you have ulterior motives?"

He rolls his eyes and steps closer,

"Were dating,"

I arch a brow,

"Careful James, it would be really depressing if I lasted as your girlfriend for only 30 minutes."

He sighs, and hangs his head, eyes peering up at me; I giggle and pat the bed,

"There are sides to a bed."

I point to one side and the next, voice knowledgeable,

"Listen this is your side of the bed. And this is my side of the bed."

He watches me, an eyebrow arched, I glare at him,

"Did no one ever teach you as a child that there are sides to a bed?"

He shakes his head,

"No. It's all one in the same, one mattress, one blanket, one-"

I cut him off,

"Nope. That's from a rich point of view. Us normal people have sides to the bed."

I watch him; eyes narrowed, and shake my head,

"I don't think I can trust you James Potter."

He glances at me and lowers his eyes, his smile is a wicked one, I go on,

"I'll sleep on the floor and you take the bed."

He grabs onto my hand as I start to take the blankets off and a couple pillows, shaking his head,

"Don't be ridiculous; what kind of gentleman would let the lady sleep on the floor."

I turn to him,

"Since when are you a gentleman?"

He rolls his eyes and I go on,

"You need the rest more than I do. Plus I can't sleep anyways. I'll probably just practice some spells, i took a few books from the library as well. I just, well I'll be busy."

He stares at me, and steps closer, that wicked look melts like wax, and his eyes change, a switch, the gold flames turn to a simmer, and there is a concern, a new emotion, I like that emotion, it makes his heart shine, it makes my breath quick. He watches me closely,

"What? Why can't you sleep?"

I glance down and back up,

"No reason, I'm just not tired, you know? I am so very awake; if I was tired I'd sleep,"

He gives me a long look, and repeats the question as a statement.

"Rose. Why can't you sleep."

I pull my hand from his and drop the blankets on the ground.

"James really I'm fine. I mean it. I just. Well. Sometimes I like staying up all night, it gives me a sense of accomplishment,"

He shakes his head,

"Stop it. Rose listen to me. Stop it. What's wrong?"

I shake my head, eyes lowering. He walks past me and goes to the desk, and stares down; he lifts up one of the thousands of strewn papers and stares at it, sketched by a desperate hand in pencil. It is a forgotten towering over a little girl. A little pureblood girl. I have her name written in the left corner. Thomas' younger sister. The hands are from the perspective of the sketcher.

"What is this?"

He picks up the next sheet of paper; it is done in black ink, smudged with tears, the forgotten are on a cliff standing over Dom's dead body. He drops it and picks up another, done in pencil, the lead swelling and dusting the soft paper, it draws eyes, and the next is the same face with different eyes. He picks up a handful of the sketches and flips through them, the ones with talons dripping in blood, forgotten hidden in alleyways as they watch passer byes walk on in Diagon Alley. Harry Potter thrown on the ground, cut, a finger in my mouth, a boy falling dead, faces, and faces, and then scientific sketches of the mind, diving into the nerve system, the different reactions to pain and death, then the eyes, drawn with a different look. Me, but no me in me, and then there are writings, scribblings of dreams on paper, on scraps and little leaflets, all written with a date. Newspaper clippings of when it happened, of when it took place, if it was in the present, the future or the past. Relating visions to reality. Names. Stuck on the far wall, names of people that I watched die. Only seven are up there. Sketches of horrors the mind cannot imagine. Ripped out pages of ancient texts and spells. Occlumency books, vivid in their reality, the mind and its wonders, everything I can find, huge volumes from the restricted section and small worn books I bought online. Letters written, and ink spilled. He takes it all in. And when he looks at me, his eyes are wide.

"Rose. What is all this? Huh?"

I shake my head, he steps back, the paper slips from his hands, I speak up, voice a whisper,

"I've been seeing things James. Real things. Things that take place. And not from an outsiders point of view but from the forgotten point of view and I am scared James. Because I am losing all scene of control and I have no will power against it. I am weak in it."

He picks up another one, and he stops, it is him, him and Andrew in the alleyway, running, eyes wide in a dead end, swirling into mist. He drops it. Boom. Eyes narrowing. Voice unsteady.

"What does that mean?"

I close my eyes,

"I am losing my mind James. I can feel my sanity slipping through my fingers and I am desperate to hold onto it. I am desperate to."

He stares at me; I can see his index finger tremble. I go on, eyes lowered,

"I value knowledge over anything, I would sacrifice my life for knowledge, I crave it, for knowledge is power, but I am losing it. My mentality, my knowledge, they are in my brain and they are corroding it, ebbing away my knowledge, and all I can do is not sleep. It is all I can do. All I can do."

He reaches for my hand but I back up, eyes meeting his, scared, wide, wild,

"You don't get it James I can't survive this, I can't just sit and watch them ruin me, I can't do nothing and I can't do anything. I blink and I can see blood, and I crave it. There are millions of monsters playing with my head and I am not strong enough, I am not. And I cannot keep them out. There is no way I can keep them out. I can't. And it is killing me. It is killing me James."

He turns to the table resting his hands on the oak wood, head hanging, his index finger taps, boom, boom, boom. He looks up at me. Eyes careful.

"I can help you Rose."

I stare at him, eyes wide.

"I can help you. But it is dangerous, and you might get hurt."

I stare at him,

"What do you mean?"

He glances down and back up,

"I can't tell you, because then I would be telling them. So you will have to trust me. Trust me that it will work."

I lower my eyes, and look up.

"It is not that I don't trust you. It is that this is my battle. I cannot give up on it."

He stares at me. And there is so much more I want to say. That I have made a choice. That I need to make a choice. That choosing is hard. That my knowledge, my mind is a sacrifice that is worth it. Because if I don't sacrifice it this man, this man that I love might die. And it will be my fault because I didn't try. I am in their heads. I am in your heads. If you can manipulate me I can manipulate you. It goes both ways. And I will kill you. I will destroy you, and if you destroy me while I destroy you it will be worth it. It will be worth it. Right? Maybe? No?

We lay down. Side by side. The pillows dividing us, if I sit up and peak over I can see him. His eyes are open. Staring up at the blue canopy. He is not smiling. I sigh. Eyes closing. Sometimes there is a space between us. We are so very different, our backgrounds, our lives, our goals, our morals. Sometimes there is this connection that cannot be denied, and your heart thuds and you try to understand if it is raw attraction or just simple love or nothing. And you can't tell. And your heart beats fast, and your eyes water. And it is all so very confusing.

I flop back onto the bed, hair splaying across white pillows. My voice is soft in the darkness.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Silence. The movement of sheets.

"Yeah. Shoot."

I smile soft,

"If you were standing on a cliff would you jump or would you wait."

Silence. And then a laugh.

"Merlin your random. Wait for what?"

I giggle,

"Anything. Trouble. Death. Hope. Love."

A silence, and then a soft response,

"I'd jump. Waiting is useless you either go to the problem or forget the problem and keep living."

I pop open an eye,

"You mean ignore or accept."

I can hear him nod. We are silent for a moment. A shuffle of sheets on skin. A soft breath. His voice is deep,

"Can I ask you a question?"

I nod my head, and then giggle, realising he can't see me, answering simply,

"Yes. Anything."

He pauses for a second and then goes on,

"What's your favourite thing to do?"

I huff, and scrunch my eyebrows together,

"Cooking. Yeah. Cooking."

A chuckle,

"Why? Not studying?"

I giggle,

"Who the hell enjoys studying?"

I can almost hear his smirk,

"Ravenclaws. And nerds,"

I huff,

"Liar. I don't mind studying, I rather learning. I could read and read for a million years and I would not be bored, not for a millisecond. Does that make me crazy?"

He shakes his head,

"No. It makes you unique. But why cooking?"

I sit up a little, and glance at him, those golden eyes are already looking for mine and he grins, and I duck my head, falling back, and answering his question,

"Have you ever seen the look on someone's face when they are truly happy?"

A quiet.

"Yes. Why?"

I sigh, and smile, lips turning up,

"Food. No matter who you are you still like eating. The look on peoples faces when they take the first bite, the way their eyes light up, it brings a pride, an adrenaline rush that makes my heart lift. That's why."

He sits up a little and peers down at me, eyes smiling,

"Then why haven't I gotten to eat your legendary food?"

I roll my eyes, and poke him on the nose,

"Your just never in the right place at the right time James Potter."

His grin widens,

"Is that my problem?"

I nod my head,

"Yes. That is your problem."

He flops back, hand going to cover his eyes. Teeth shining. We are quiet for a time. Then he speaks,, voice inquisitive,

"What's your favourite color?"

I glance at him,

"Blue. You?"

He scoots closer,

"Gold. Always gold."

He pauses,

"Favourite food,"

"Ice cream"

He rolls his eyes,

"That's not a food,"

"Yes it is!"

"No it doesn't count, it's a dessert,"

"Since when are desserts not food?"

"Ahh, good point, ill shut up, I can't win an argument against you anyways,"

"Why?"

"Because you are too darn adorable to disagree with."

I giggle, and duck my head, eyes closing,

"What's your favourite class?"

He sighs, yawning,

"None. They are all bloody boring. You?"

I glance at him,

"You'll mock me so I'm not gonna answer."

He sits up,

"Does that mean it is divination?"

I wince, and he full on laughs,

"You're kidding me, it is? Merlin Rose, that doesn't even count as a class."

I roll my eyes, and pull the blankets up, peaking at him from beneath them, eyes laughing, he shakes his head,

"No way. Is it cause it is the only class you got first in that I didn't?"

I roll my eyes, murmuring,

"I'm not that grade obsessed,"

He ruffles my hair,

"Yeah right, keep lying to yourself."

I sigh, and roll my eyes.

"It's not fair, you don't study, all you ever do is read those Quidditch magazines."

He chuckles, eyes wicked, his voice amused,

"Yeah, those Quidditch magazines aren't Quidditch magazines."

I glance up,

"What?"

He grins,

"It's a clever trick, you take the textbook and rip off the cover and then you do the transforming charm and attach the magazine cover onto it, so it looks like you don't care, and just are naturally gifted."

My jaw drops and I stare at him eyes wide, sitting up,

No way… You're serious right now?"

He nods, lips pressed together, an eyebrow arched, I roll my eyes and let out a huff,

"God you're a genius. It's not even fair anymore okay? Who the hell puts in that much effort to just look like they don't care?"

He flops back and chuckles again, not answering, I scoot closer,

"You know you are the most extra person I have ever met."

He grins,

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment,"

I shake my head,

"It wasn't meant to be one,"

He rolls his eyes. We are silent for a bit. The darkness descends. He sits up eventually, and peers over the pillows,

"What's your favourite TV show?"

I sit up as well and stare at him,

"Game of thrones. Why?"

He nods his head,

"I just find it interesting that you stare at a black box that has some cords attached to it to watch people do nonsensical things. It's a waste of time."

I sigh,

"No it's not. It's like reading a book, except you're not. You're watching a book."

He shakes his head,

"It doesn't make sense. It's useless. Just read the book. Why bother watch people play it out?"

I sigh again,

"Because it's fun. Listen one day James Potter you and I will binge watch Game of Thrones and you will think differently."

He arches a brow,

"Binge?"

I giggle,

"Merlin you wizards have no life. How depressing."

He hits me over the top of the head, and I duck, laughing softly.

"You'd like it; it's a battle of power. Very much like your life."

He arches a brow,

"Politics isn't a game, and we don't have tyrants so therefore there is no throne we are after."

I roll my eyes,

"Yes. Yes. Whatever you say Potter."

He grins, and asks another question,

"What's your favourite body part of me?"

I cough and splutter. And duck my head,

"Merlin James. You can't just drop that."

He grins, and goes on,

"My favourite body part of you is your hair. It mesmerizes me. My second favourite is your waist."

I feel the blush coming like a bus and I squeeze my eyes closed,

"I'm flattered but I'm not answering that question."

He sits up,

"Why not? Embarrassed? Nervous? Maybe excited?"

I open my eyes and gulp,

"Eyes. Your eyes."

He grins, and lifts his shirt a little,

"What about my abs?"

I let out a scream and squeeze my eyes closed again, and he laughs, reaching for me, but I raise my finger, opening an eye,

"Nuh-uh my side of the bed, your side of the bed, see the difference?"

He rolls his eyes, and grins at me,

"I think you like my abs too,"

I arch a brow,

"James you are the most ridiculous, childish, sexy man alive. It's very unnerving,"

He puts a hand over his heart and falls back laughing; I peer over the pillows at him, and laugh with him,

"That went straight to your head, didn't it?"

He looks up at me,

"I'd be lying if I said it didn't."

I sigh, but the smile won't fall.

"Go to sleep you idiot."

A silence. And eventually a hand. Resting on top of the pillows, his voice is soft,

"Is this okay? Us? Is it okay?"

I stare at his hand and take it, and give it a soft squeeze, our fingers interlacing,

"Yes. Yes it is."

He lets out a breath. And the minutes pass. The hours pass. And I don't sleep. Eyes wide. Staring up at the ceiling and eventually I hear soft steady breathes, and I peer over the pillows, the star light shining off of sun kissed skin. His eyes are closed, his lips parted slightly, his hand holds onto mine fiercely, fingers squeezing mine every now and then. And I can feel the smile lift. And he whispers it. Soft into the night,

"I love you."

And my heart thuds. And I can feel a tear fall. Soft on my cheek. And I whisper back,

"I know. I know."

And I reach over, my fingers hovering over his face for just a second, and then I rest them down, his skin is warm, and soft to touch, I trace his eyebrow, and his cheekbone, and the curve of his lip, and I can feel the smile break. And I go to take my hand away but he grabs it. His movement sudden. His eyes squeezing shut, his voice broken,

"Stay."

So I watch him sleep until his hand goes slack, and his fingers fall. And I adjust the blankets, pulling them up a bit, my hand moving a piece of stray hair that fell in his eyes. And as time passes, my eyes close and I focus on his breathing. And no dreams come. Nothing comes. Just the dark oblivion of rest. And true peace. Peace in each other's arms.

In the simple hold of a hand, of fingers interwoven and breath interlocked. And the night passes in solitude. In the soft touch, in the soft moment, in the oblivion time has caught and held onto. And it is worth it. Living. Life. All of it. And so we breath. In and out in solitude. And he holds me, he holds me like I am a treasure. And he sleeps. And I sleep. Because we trust each other, because we protect each other. Because we are home for each other. And then. The first night we lied in the same bed, on the same sheets, the first of many, it was the beginning of a future. Because when home becomes a person, that person becomes a priority, and without realising your world shifts to focus on them, on him and everything changes. And he becomes the centre of attention.

And you pay attention to each detail, you memorise each breath. And you learn each other like a map, you know all the secret alleyways, the secret passages, the footprints, you learn to follow their moves, until unconsciously you are repeating them. You fit together like puzzle pieces. And you create a memory in the moment you live. You create a thousand. And without noticing you are closer than before because you learn to relay on each other, to respect each other, to value each other. And we are equals, and what was once a want is now a need, and unhealthy and healthy are tossed to the wind. And it isn't family. You don't want him to be family. You want more than that. And I slept that night. I hadn't slept in weeks, not this long, not hour upon hour. And I could breath and he never let go of my hand. Not for a second.

The morning light shines through the window. I can see the rise of the sun, and my eyes open slow. And I smile, wide, his hand still holds mine, his breath is still steady, I peer over and I can see his eyes are still closed. He kicked the blankets to the floor, his shirt is riding up, and I can see those abs he was speaking of and I blush ever so slightly, averting my eyes, and stretch my other hand, yawning, and rolling my shoulders back. And then quickly I check my breath. Hand going to my mouth. Ew. I grab my wand and with a flick I grab the breath mint out of the air and pop it in my mouth, grinning triumphantly.

I rest my chin on the top of the pillows and watch his chest rise and fall, I watch the soft breeze cause his hair to run across his face. I watch the fall of each of his eyelashes, the high crest of his cheekbones, the soft skin, the sharp jawline, the Adams apple, the long fingers, the curve of each muscle, the mountains of lips, and the crevice of his collarbones. He is a work of art. I sigh. And go rigid when I hear his husky voice, and a soft chuckle,

"Are you watching me sleep?"

I grin, and duck my head, cheeks flushing,

"Maybe."

He turns over, onto his back and yawns, rolling his shoulders back and letting out a sigh as he closes his eyes again, mumbling,

"You are such a creep Rose BlackThorne."

I giggle, and scoot closer, peering over the mountain of pillows at him, and whisper,

"You look even better when you sleep."

He grins, lips quirking up, and lets out a chuckle, husky in the morning, and turns onto his side, a long finger poking me on the nose, an eye cracking open,

'"Well I am a stunning specimen of good jeans,"

I nod my head, resting my chin on my palm and murmur, lips smiling,

"Yes you are..."

He full on laughs and opens an eye, shaking his head,

"Gorgeous people must attract gorgeous people."

I roll my eyes and flop back, hair splaying across the pillows. We are silent for a moment. His breath is steady, up and down, up and down. Eventually he murmurs,

"I haven't slept that well in years."

I am silent, eyes wide, and I smile, soft, but growing.

He reaches over a long arm and pokes me, I laugh, soft in the morning light, he peers over, bed hair sticking up,

"You should feel blessed Black; this is a rare occasion,"

I laugh and shake my head, looking up at him,

"James. Go back to your side of the bed."

He rolls his eyes and flops back down with a huff, I giggle, and peer back over, eyes poking up, just over the line of the pillows,

"You don't have the dark circles anymore, what; did you put on concealer in the middle of the night or something?"

He grins at me, and closes his eyes, shaking his head, I shake my head with him,

"No way... There is no way they would disappear that fast, we hardly got any sleep anyways,"

He smirks up at me, peaking open an eye,

"Okay fine I did a spell,"

My jaw drops and I laugh full out,

"You take better care of your looks than I do."

He rolls his eyes,

"Jealous much?"

I shake my head,

"No. Amused. Amused at just how ridiculous you are."

He ducks his head, eye cracking open,

"But you love me."

I laugh,

"Yes. But I love you James freakin Potter."

He sighs,

"You and the entire nation,"

Now it is my turn to roll my eyes, and I let go of his hand, disentangling our fingers and arching a brow,

"They don't love you James, they love your image."

He sits up, arching a brow, and scrunching his eyebrows together,

"I was joking Black. J-O-K-I-N-G"

I scrunch my face at him, and he leans closer, and I get ready to wince at his bad breath, but instead I am shocked. His breath smells like cinnamons, soft and calming, a slight tint of coffee. I shake my head, and take his face in both of my hands and lean closer, taking a long sniff. He raises his eyebrows,

"Rose what the hell are you doing?"

I let go of his face and shake my head,

"Did you also wake up and drink coffee?"

He shakes his head,

"Why?"

I glance down,

"There is no way you are that perfect, merlin it's annoying,"

He grins,

"Why? Did you take a breath mint?"

I hit him over the head and hop out of bed, voice airy,

"I have no idea what you are referring to Potter."

He grins and flops back on the bed, watching me pack my bag for school. I glance down and then back up,

"Isn't the Greyback trial today?"

His grin falls and he nods, eyes weary,

"Yeah it is."

I glance up,

"You should get going then, it's important, more important,"

"More important than what?"

"Than me."

He shakes his head,

"I disagree,"

I roll my eyes,

"I don't care if you agree."

He laughs,

"Fine. I'll leave. Will that make you happy?"

I shake my head,

"No. But it's what you should do."

He sighs,

"Responsibility sucks doesn't it?"

I glance down and start to organize the drawings, and he stands, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed and standing, walking over and wrapping his arms around me from behind. I let out a soft gasp. And I can feel him smile into my hair, voice soft,

"Don't move. Don't turn around."

I take a breath,

"Why?"

He smiles again, his voice a whisper,

"Because I want to say thank you but I don't think I can face you while saying it."

I repeat my question,

"Why?"

He sighs,

"Because I am a burden and I kept you waiting, and I will screw up and I screw up and you don't give up on me."

I turn around and raise my chin,

"You should look the person in the eyes when you say thank you."

He stares down at me, voice a murmur,

"Thank you."

I smile and go on my tippy toes, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes,

"I'm not gonna give up on you Potter. I promise."

He grins, and then pauses, eyes wide, and I also fall silent, I can hear the heavy footsteps on the stairs, the door knob move and he grins,

"Bye love,"

And just like that he disappears into smoke. And my hands are left empty. And I can feel my heart fall. He is going out there. To save the world. To make it a better place. And I am stuck here. I am stuck with no purpose, no life. I feel my heals hit the ground. And the door slams open with collective groans. And I close my eyes, just for a second and let out a breath. "You'll be okay Rose. He'll come back. He will. Right?"

V grabs onto my hand, flopping into a chair,

"Okay, I'm officially dead."

I glance at her, and smile,

"Was it that bad?"

She sighs,

"Worse."

She glances up, and then back down, and pulls a letter out of her bag,

"This came for you late last night."

I scrunch my eyebrows together,

"What?"

I look down at it, it is a muggle letter, no seal, and what I see instead is the stamp of the police force, and I open it, hands trembling,

Rose BlackThorne,

You are requested to report to the West Milton 489 Police Station for Questioning on the murders of your foster family, Lisa Benedict, Humphrey Benedict and their two children in Peru. If you do not report here within 48 hours you will be arrested for withholding information with a bail of 4,000 pounds. Do not disappoint,

Chief Inspector Ewell Martin.

I feel my breath suck in. And let go of the letter, handing it to V. She stares at it, eyes wide and shakes her head,

"Rose, what does this mean?"

I shake my head with her,

"I don't know. I don't get it. It doesn't make sense, I wasn't in Peru, why question me?"

She stares at me.

"You better get on the train right now."

I stare into oblivion. And I can feel it. The emotions building like a wild fire, and I tremble. And my bottom lip shakes, and I scrunch my eyes closed and shake my head,

"I don't want to go."

She stands quickly, letting go of the letter,

"Hey, look at me,"

I slowly open my eyes, lips pressed together, eyes shining, and my voice wobbles,

"I can't. I am so overwhelmed. I am so overwhelmed V. Everything is going wrong and I am all alone, and just for a moment, last night, it felt like everything could be fine, everything could be fine and he, he has this way of making me forget about the bad things. About all the bad things. About everything. And then he is gone, and I can't. I can't."

She takes my hands in hers and her gaze is steady,

"Pull yourself together Rose. Listen to me,"

She gives me a long look,

"If you give up now it is game over. No future. No great cities. And you are screwed. So you better not give up or I will beat you up."

I stare at her, her voice is steady,

"You once told me that life is a roller coaster, one minute we are on top of the world and then the other we are rock bottom, but you will go back up, you always do. This needs to be your up Rose. You hear me?"

I wrap my arms around her and she leans into me, eyes closing. Hands in my hair, patting me on the back softly,

"You don't need to be okay to live, you just need to have hope. Have hope and have courage and fight on."

I meet her eyes. She squeezes my hand.

"I'll walk you to the train station, kay?"

I nod my head. Eyes closing and I can hear that sickly whistle of the forgotten and laughter, they are laughing at my weakness. A blink. Eyes closed. Another blink.

The red of the train shines, and I wave to V, her eyes are scared, concerned, a little worried, a little regretful. Me too. I regret things as well.

I go to get on but stop, my feet coming to a still. And I stare. Eyes wide. Fred and Thomas. Side by side. Deep in conversation. I can see their lips move, then Fred yells, eyes wide, raising his hand, as if to hit Thomas, but Thomas laughs and shakes his head, and pats Fred on the back. Like a friend would. And then Fred turns. And his eyes are different. I can read them. They are dangerous. He tilts his head back and grins, and the movement, all of it, it reminds me of James, sickly, almost wickedly, as if there was a mirror, he runs his hand through his air, he arches a brow. I lower my eyes, and bite my lip. Something is wrong. My gut is telling me something is wrong. But what? James doesn't like Thomas so why would Fred like Thomas? Isn't that how it works. The train whistles. Fred notices me, and walks over, and I see his stance shift, as if he is a walking image, and then he is normal Fred, eyes guarded, a silly grin on his face, a joke waiting to be told. A shiver runs down my spine. We fear them. We fear people who are good at the act, because then you enevr know what is their true face. You only know that this one can't be real, and there are no cracks, there are no mistakes, there are no guesses. Life is a game of observation, you see what your heart wants you to see,, not what your brain programs you to see, even the smartest person, even the brightest cannot imagen betrayal.

It is a strange thing. You see him walking towards syou. He is your friend. Right? What else could he be? He is Fred, he is silly, and childish, trustworthy, he is worth it because his heart beats and breeds innocence. His eyes tell a story of humble arrogance and he does not blink away your stares, because they are not meant for him, they are meant for James. He pokes me in the arm, eyes curious, voice jolly,

"You getting on the train? Running away Thorne? I didn't know you were a rebel,"

I stare at him, and then smile, soft,

"I got permission you dunce,"

He raises his eyebrows,

"Uhuh yeah sure you did,"

He grins and goes to walk away, back facing me, and I call after him, voice still calm, friendly, inviting,

"I didn't realise you and Thomas are friends."

He glances at me, green eyes jolly,

"We aren't."

I clear my throat slightly,

"But you seemed pretty close back there, whispering and laughing together."

He gives me a sharp look,

"I was putting him in his place; because James isn't around he thinks he can do what he wants. But he can't."

I stare at him,

"It must suck having to hate everyone James hates, never getting to choose if you like or dislike the person."

He stops. And turns to face me, eyebrows coming together,

"Listen to me Rose; you need to stay the hell away from Thomas. Understand? He is not a good person."

I shake my head,

"What does that mean?"

He steps forward,

"Some people are born with the hope that they won't become bad, but him, he was born bad, and he oozes it, and he reeks of it."

I stare at him,

"Then what were you and him talking about?"

He shakes his head,

"Nothing. What would a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff have to talk about? We are the opposite of each other. He is a coward and I am a Weasley."

I shake my head with him,

"No. You seemed happy; you were smiling Fred, wide too,"

He steps back, ducking his head,

"Why does it matter to you?"

I step forward and shake my head,

"It doesn't. I'm just curious, I seem to forget that you are Gryffindor and i am a Ravenclaw. Perhaps we shouldn't be talking. But we are. Because it is worth it."

He shakes his head, eyes lowering,

"Is it? I'm only talking to you because James talks to you,"

I lower my eyes, and laugh soft,

"Ouch… I'll try not to take offense from that,"

He steps forward, and grins,

"Why? Because you want to be friends, and have a secret hand shake and laugh at jokes together and grin from ear to ear? Because you think just because James and the girls accept you it means your special?"

The breath hisses between his lips, and he gives me a long look,

"Your right being friends with him is not very enjoyable but I love him, he is like an older brother to me, and I get him, and I can smell him on you Rose, you reek of him, you ooze him"

I stare at him and he takes in a deep whiff,

"The innocent Rose is tainted by him, you cannot refuse him because you love him, you cannot hate him because you love him, so you and I are very alike in that sense. But I am different. I have a mind of my own. And I haven't made a mess of his life, at least not yet…"

He sighs, and shakes his head,

"You wouldn't get it, white, hot, blinding rage, and you won't get it. Enjoy your trip, careful of the dark, it holds bad things, bad things you won't enjoy."

I stop him, voice soft,

"Who are you angry at?"

He glances at me, and lets out a harsh laugh, shaking his head, voice steady,

"Why do you care?"

I pout my lips, and smile, just so very little, my voice following him,

"I don't. I don't know you well enough to care."

He looks surprised, and I can see it, a light in the raging blackness, and he looks back out, voice matching mine, more friendly, a little more open,

"You are blunt. I am not used to it, being friends with someone like James, who only ever evades and lies and hides I am not used to bluntness, it is refreshing, a little startling."

I laugh, and shake my head, eyes finding the sun, and I grin,

"James is not like that all the time, just give him a chance, he just needs a chance."

A dark laugh comes from beside me, and out of the corner of my eye I can see his fist form, fingernails digging into flesh. And I narrow my eyes, glaring at that sun, voice carefully executed,

"If you are angry at James I suggest you take a deep breath, he is dangerous Fred, and he hardly trusts anyone, if someone,"

I turn to face him, and raise my chin, eyes finding his; I arch a brow, and clear my throat, going on,

"If someone were to betray him I doubt he would be forgiving, he needs people like us, like you Fred, by his side. Doesn't he?"

His eyes search mine, and he looks down, and then back up, voice soft, softer than the wind, he steps closer,

"You are by his side Rose, you are all he needs, what further use does he have for us?"

I stare at him and shake my head, sadder this time, as I go to speak,

"No girlfriends change like the wind, but friends, they last decades."

His eyes widen, and he grins, and his eyes are back, the green ones, freckles prominent,

"Are you two official now?"

I duck my head and shake it, laughing, and shading my hand to my forehead, blocking out the sun,

"Kinda, well yes."

His grin falters and he sighs, looping his hand over my shoulder and grinning down at me,

"Trust me Rose BlackThorne James and you are different,"

I look up at him, and arch a brow brushing off his arm, hands going to cross in front of my chest, voice abrupt,

"Do you love him?"

His eyes widen, and he steps back, eyes falling to the floor,

"What kind of question is that?"

I step forward, and give him a long look, and repeat myself,

"It's simple Fred, you either love him or you don't"

He clears his throat, and looks back up at me, throwing my question back at me,

"Well do you love him?"

A heartbeat. A smile. Zero hesitation.

"Yes. I do. But do you?"

He looks out at the golden sun and smiles, a sad smile,

"I used too. But then I realized a lot of things. And that changed how I loved him."

I nod, green eyes following his to the fiery sky, and my voice is soft,

"Do you hate him?"

He shakes his head, voice dropping,

"Of course not. How could I? He's like a brother,"

I nod, and turn away, looking out, past the sun, past the hidden stars and to the empty heavens, where the angels are chained and the demons are executed. And I smile, it is a sad smile, a smile of what is to come, and what has come and went on without us.

When I do speak my voice is like a lullaby, quiet,

"But you do not love him, yet you are one of his closest friends, relatives, you mean the world to him and yet you cannot love him, you choose not to. Why?"

A sigh, an anger well concealed, an actor ready for the stage,

"Because he is to blame."

I turn to him, and I feel my heart boom,

"For what?"

A blink, a laugh, high and cold, hanging in the air,

"For who I am, for who I chose to be, for the path of life I live, for us, for the future, for everything."

I shake my head,

"You are blinded with rage Fred. And you are wrong. If you blame others for your mistakes then you are a coward, and a thief of their name, and a fool."

There is a horror in his eyes. I raise my chin and go on.

"Do not lower yourself to someone who cannot face what he has become, who puts his own friends name beneath him to weather the blow. You are a Gryffindor."

I raise my gaze and sharpen it, voice hard,

"It is about time you start acting like one."

He winces and his voice is broken. Angered. And also soft with a new realization,

"No wonder James cares for you so. You have no fear. You say what you mean. You don't act."

I smile, and take his hands in mine, eyes searching his. My voice softens,

"Just listen, from one stranger to another, I know you think I know nothing, and I do, but James needs you, understand he needs-"

He breaks in, hands squeezing mine, voice raging,

"What about what I need? HUH? How would you know what I need? Am I to be forever his play thing? He cares about someone else every five minutes, and I am supposed to stay, he is in the spotlight, and he is ruining our world. How can you defend a monster? A monster that has killed and slaughtered,"

I feel my breath shake, he steps closer and I wince. His voice screams at me, loud,

"If I have to defend a monster, let it be one that I believe will win."

I am trembling, eyes wide, and he leans in, I stand my ground, but my breath hisses between my lips, his voice is deadly in the silence,

"Don't judge a stranger by your morals or your beliefs. I am not your friend; I am not your relative. We do not even know each other. So stand aside Rose BlackThorne. Hear me?"

I raise my chin, eyes lost in the darkness that brews in his; his voice goes on, broken,

"You do not know James, I do, I know him better than I know myself, so it is perfect, because I know his next move, his next retreat, and I can tell them, I can tell them everything."

I let out a shaky breath, eyes wide

"Tell who?"

He grins,

"Everyone, anyone who will listen, the next big thing, the mirror, you."

The train whistle blows. I step away. Muggle clothes suddenly oddly uncomfortable. He watches me and I watch him. And we are silent. He lowers his eyes and then he grins, eyes shining with a joy,

"You should get going Thorne, enjoy the trip without me,"

I stare at him. Eyes wide. And let out a breathy laugh.

"Of course."

He turns to go and as do I. But he pauses. And turns back, eyes on me. His voice careful,

"When you get back remember to keep your wand, remember to not forget it on the train, remember to pick it up."

I stare at him,

"What?"

He stares at me, and his eyes are sad and I can see regret in the emerald and he shakes his head,

"Don't forget; promise me, because if you don't forget you'll win."

I tilt my head to the side,

"Win? Win against who?"

He laughs, eyes sad, and I see a tear, a tear in those eyes, and he smiles, his grin ear to ear as the tear falls,

"It is too late isn't it. I'm sorry Rose, I didn't have a choice. We never do have a choice. I wish it was different."

I tilt my head to the side,

"What was different? What?"

He blinks,

"Everything. Remember."

And then the train is moving and I hold onto the stair railing, the wind rushing through my hair as I watch him disappear. And I look down at my hand, where my wand is clutched. And I stare at it. And I look back up. Eyes confused. What did he mean? What did he mean? I blink. The scenery flies by. The wind is soft. And I can feel it in my bones. Time is speeding up. And it is running by me and I am going to die. I can see it. They wear masks; they are going to kill me. Don't forget your wand Rose. Don't forget to forget. The shudder of the wheels on tracks, the turn of the world as it flies by. I can sense it. Death has awakened, and is running towards me, death is grinning, ear to ear, and death has a single tear falling from his emerald eye, a tear of regret, a tear of the taring of innocence, or the adrenaline rush of the first kill. It is coming on the horizon as the sun rises and bathes me in gold. And my time is in a bottle and it is has a leak and it is sinking the ship, and I cannot see the water, it is clear, it is suffocating. They have me surrounded. On all sides. Mentally, physically, socially. There is no escape. So don't forget your wand Rose. Don't forget your wits. Don't forget your brain. Don't Rose. Blink.

The room is small. The double mirror is intimidating. The desk is metal. I am scared. The police officer is before me. The badge is shiny. The uniform pristine. His voice is deep, my hands don't fidget,

"Rose BlackThorne?"

I stare at the police officer. The room is empty. I nod my head, lips thin. Eyes never straying. The officer nods and takes a note. And then looks back up. Our eyes meet. Three seconds. Down. A breath, my chest rises and falls. I count the milliseconds. I can see too much, too little, nothing at all. He shuffles the papers; it is a soft sound, a chill, a boom,

"Your foster family. How well did you know them?"

I blink. Once. Eyes steady. My voice is quiet, not too loud, not too angry, it is controlled. It controls the emotion. I care but not enough that I knew them well. That's what they want. An easy case. My voice silent,

"Not well. I only met them once, though they wrote me a letter a week which were delivered to my boarding school."

Another scratch of the pen. The shuffling of paper. The stink of a cigarette. The clink of handcuffs muffled against pant cloth, hidden on his belt loop. A breath. Hands relaxed, poster slightly slouched. Shoulders back, chin at a 83% angle. If I make a mistake the police will blame me, I can't be blamed. But my hands are sweaty and my pulse hammers away. My pupils dilated. My toes fidgeting in my shoes.

He looks me over. And clears his throat, placing his pen down carefully. It hits the table. Click.

"Why did you not go to Peru with them?"

I blink again, and glance down at my hands, voice scraping at emotions, and I can feel a shudder. Why? Because they forgot about me. They forgot I existed. They forgot to value me. I feel a tear, cold, brush at my eyeball, but I don't dare let it fall.

"I was not invited."

The creak of the chair as he sits back, folding his arms over his chest. And his eyes are narrow slits.

"Where is your foster family now?"

A blink. Voice broken.

"They are dead."

The scrape of chair legs on tiled floor. A heavy footstep, one, two. And then my heart skips a beat.

"How did you know that? I have spoken to the orphanage, and the post, you weren't sent a letter, you didn't receive a call, or a text, no one told you, so how do you know they died?"

I freeze. And I can see Hermione opening the letter, the long table. Crap. CRAP. The Rose BlackThorne, the orphan, does not have ties to powerful families, she is a little girl excepted into a special boarding school on a scholarship somewhere in the country side, she would not know they died. She would not. She would not.

I swallow and raise my gaze so I am looking at him and I shake my head voice soft,

"I don't understand the question,"

He nods, hands going to his pockets.

"How did you know they died?"

I don't blink. Mind scrambling. Voice steady.

"I saw it in the newspaper."

He tilts his head, his voice cuts me like a knife,

"Where were you on Christmas Eve Rose BlackThorne? In fact where were you for the entirety of December and the first week of January?"

I swallow. I am no longer an innocent. I can see the change in his eyes, from interest to suspicion. It is a dark change, and I am scared, my fingers are tense, splayed on each knee. If I say I was with the Potters I will be dragging them into this. And how can I do something like that? The Potters are a powerful family, if they get associated with the murders the forgotten did to my foster family, it would be admitting to all of them I was an orphan, it would be dragging their name through the mud. A pause. A blink.

"I was with a friend, Scorpius Malfoy."

A step back, two. The pen is picked up. A scribble. A pause, a glance up. A voice,

"Where can we contact him?"

A blink. I nod my head, voice soft,

"He does not have a phone number. But a letter, or,"

He cuts me off, eyes narrowing,

"Which newspaper, which newspaper did you see it in, on what day, hmm, what day did you see it?"

I look down. Mind scrambling. My voice is shaking, just on the edges. A blink, another one, another one. If I say one and it is the wrong one then I will be lying under oath, if I say the right one, which has a very small probability, what would be the date? Hermione and the Potters find out much sooner than the public. And even so, it would be difficult to identify the mutated bodies. And maek a report so quickly. Any day after Christmas for that week. Seven days. And if I say the wrong day I am screwed, because then I am saying I am lying.

My eyes meet his, voice soft,

"I don't remember. I can't remember."

A sigh. The chair scrapes in, he tilts his head.

"How many foster families have you had?"

I lower my eyes, and press my lips together, clearing my throat,

"One."

He taps the pen. One. It hits the page, I blink with it, I can hear a ringing in my ears. Two. He leans forward, elbows rested on the metal. He lets out a breath,

"Why would they not invite you?"

I glance down,

"I was not close enough to be family, and they left before my school got out, and we were just starting to get to know each other."

He tilts his head. His words soft,

"Did you know that Lisa, your foster mother, is an orphan as well?"

My heart speeds up. I look up. Eyes wide, and lean forward, voice lowering,

"What?"

A nod, he sits back,

"In their will, she left everything to you. The house, the car, her mother's jewellery, now why, why would someone who is not close enough to be family, who didn't invite you to Peru do that?"

I glance down. The Forgotten. The Forgotten are playing again. And this is another one of their games. And I am caught in their snare. They are setting me up for going to jail for murder. Their murder.

He places the pen down. And blinks slow, eyes slits,

"Your fingerprints were on the scene, and many eye witnesses saw you coming in and out of the hotel room that day, Christmas Eve. You don't remember the newspapers name, or the day you saw it, and yet you know their dead, you inherit thousands of pounds, and real estate, you claim you are not close but people on the plane to Peru saw you. Sitting next to Lisa, your foster mother. So let me ask you again, where were you on December 24th Rose BlackThorne?"

Boom. The forgotten can change faces, create illusion. There was one on the plane, one in the hotel room. And I realise, and it is scary realising, the foster family, my foster family did invite me, but I never got the invitation, and they thought I was there, because a forgotten played me, acted my part. Changed the will, or got in her head for long enough to convince her to. They have won again. I am loosing over and over. And I could go to jail. I could go to jail for something I never did. Something they did. And I can hear it in my mind, they are laughing, and death is walking faster, and my hands are shaking under the table. They are ruining my life. They are taking not just my sanity but my prospects of a future, all of it. They are taking it because they can, because they want to watch me suffer. They want to see the fear in my eyes, they feed off of it.

My voice shakes.

"I need to make a phone call. May I?"

An arched brow. A nod. I pick up the phone. And stare at it. No one I know owns a telephone. Crap. My hand shakes. I feel the tears creep back into my eyes. I blink them back. I let out a breath. Who can I call? What way is there out of this? A blink. I close my eyes.

And turn to face him, taking the seat again. HE watches me, voice soft,

"You didn't call anyone."

I sigh,

"I have no one to call."

He stares at me. I let out a breath. What I am about to do is illegal. I feel the wand on my palm. The wood is cold. A chill. I begin to raise it. I did not raise it on Thomas. I did not raise it on Fred. I did not raise it on the Forgotten. I look at the man before me. He is just doing his job. He has a family, he is wearing a wedding ring, and what do I even plan to do? Obliviate a police officer? Is this the Rose I want to be? Who does illegal things, who uses violence as a sneaky way out, what about your brain, your mind, Rose? But somewhere in my head my morality prevents me from doing so. I tilt my head to the side. Mind whirling to action. My voice is steady, wand clutched in a steely grip,

"As a minor I have the legal right to stay silent unless I am under arrest. I am not required to answer any of your questions until you have a written sentence with proof from the police chief that I have committed a crime. In clause 435 I have this right. And here I shall commence the use of it. If I am arrested, even then I must first speak to my lawyer and you must have plausible charges."

I raise my chin,

"You are saying that a child, me, gruesomely murdered three people in how many minutes?"

He stares at me,

"Twenty."

I shake my head, eyes narrowing,

"I disagree, I am not strong enough to pull out organs and crush hearts. I cannot even lift a dum bell. Tell me, what is your logic?"

The pen taps. The chair scrapes, a long look,

"You are the only witness, the only person who entered the room, the only person who shows up on the cameras. Now tell me, me who is working with international police forces trying to solve this psychotic murder, tell me why I have called you in months after it happened,"

I stare at him and shake my head,

"Why?"

He leans forward, eye twitching,

"Because it doesn't make sense, a little girl, doing all that, so we exhausted every other option. But tell me Rose, why are you the only logical explanation? Huh?"

I shake my head,

"I am not capable of murder."

He arches a brow,

"That's what they all say."

I raise my chin,

"I am not a murderer."

He gives me a long look, and I blink, and I am in the hotel room and I am trapped, and I can see the bodies, and Lisa stands and I grab onto the front of her shirt, my clear hands, and I rip out her heart, and she collapses, screaming, and I am laughing and I begin to eat it, it tastes good, the flesh tastes good, and then I tare at my chest, my talons sinking into my skin, and once my chest is open I lean over her and her soul is sucked into me, and the feeling is warm, and I want more, I crave more, I turn to the little boy, I am crawling towards him, my talons click the against the ground.

I blink. The police officer stares at me, eyes careful, hand on his belt, I can see the gun, I can feel the anger surging up, over powering, I am raging mad. I have lost control. Something snaps. They cannot win this time. I go to raise my wand. But stop. If I obliviate him, how many more police officers are on this case, what is the use? You are trapped Rose. There is no way out. None.

I sit back, wand going back into my pocket, eyes levelling,

"Under interrogation a guardian must first be informed. Since I presently do not have a guardian because the papers are in transition from my dead foster family back to the orphanage you will have to wait patiently till they are completed."

I pause, teeth catching my lip,

"If you do not have any further questions I would like to take my leave."

The police officer looks me over. He shakes his head. Voice grave.

"The papers will be completed by next week. Then we'll meet again."

I nod in response, eyes wandering away. He sighs the pen drops onto the paper; a ripple from the wind is formed. I watch the papers edges flutter like a heartbeat, like my heartbeat. He watches me carefully,

"I am not assuming you killed someone. You are very young, and those murders, they were gruesome, organs missing, bones snapped, and no one heard a sound. But admitting you were there, in Peru, and telling the daily events with honesty is all I can advise you to do. Lying like this is digging a hole and age will become a number and logical decision making will be unimportant, the case will be closed and you will be behind bars with a lawyer the state assigns, who is no good, and is payed very little. And you will plead guilty. And you will get either lifelong or 60 years plus. And your life will go down the drain."

I feel the tear fall, it slips down my cheek, and I close my eyes, and he stares at me, and I can see pity, he pities me. And his voice is soft,

"I am only going to ask this one more time. But where were you on Christmas eve?"

I stare at him. Voice soft. And there is no sound. There is no future. Success. The Ministry. It drips on its way down the drain and my hands are shaking and my mind is splitting in two, and I am a broken creature.

He repeats the question. I pause. Eyes rimmed in red. Voice broken,

"I was in Peru. With my foster family."

He stares at me. And the tear is cold. It crawls down my skin and the laughter in my mind has a sickly echo. And my skin itches with disgust. He stands. The door clicks open, his eyes are cold,

"You are free to go."

The chair scrapes back, my footsteps are loud. The door creaks as it closes behind me. My hands are fists. Don't forget Rose. Don't forget your wand. Don't forget your wand Rose or the pain will never stop.

The train is dark, the wheels turn with an eerie silence. My head is in my hands, my fingers shake. I can see too many things, too little things, and I am in pain. I am hurting. I am trapped with no escape. I feel my hands shake, I feel them tremble and I close my eyes and all I can see is blood on hotel room carpet, organs decorating the bed, the cameras glaring down at me. ME.

It shutters to a stop. Groaning. The lights are soft outside of the windows. I can see the castle far away. Hope is in those castle walls. If only I could make it there. If only it was that easy. My hand shakes. I stand. My bag drops to the ground. Boom. I hear the clink of my wand. I open the compartment door. I go to walk out. The bag stays behind. The wand on the floor. Tip pointing out. I stop. I close my eyes and I can feel it. They are in my mind. The Forgotten, they are telling me to keep walking, keep walking, keep walking.

One step. A pause. I open my eyes. They shine in the pitchy darkness. I look out the window, the light snuffs out. A blink. The darkness descends. I feel a chill settle in the air. The hair on the back of my neck rises. My breath catches. Another step. I can see the stairs down to the platform. I can see the carriages, the Thestrals. I close my eyes, a blink, I can see blood, dark, dark blood. Another step.

The compartment door behind me slowly closes, click. It locks behind me. I freeze. And slowly, I turn around, the darkness is blinding. The moon has left the skies. The clouds are heavy. I can feel the wind rattle my bones. The glass of the door is see through. I can see my bag. The tip of my wand.

I can hear Fred. I can hear him. His voice echoes.

"Don't forget."

Forget what? The pain in my mind is killing me, a hand goes to my temple, I blink, there is no bag on the ground, no wand. I tilt my head to the side. What? I blink again; the darkness is telling me things.

I turn around. And then I feel it, a hand, it creeps up my back, a talon runs across my spine, curling over my skin, on my shoulder, the skin is cold, the talons are long, they loop over my arm. The weight is heavy. I hear the whistle. It whirls by me. A wince. A breath. I turn around again, eyes wide. Nothing. No one. And my bag. It lies on the ground. With no wand.

I go back, one step, two step, three step. My hand latches onto the compartment door, its cold. Covered in frost. But its April. The frost has melted. Something is very wrong. Something is coming. I can feel it in my bones. The train whistle blares, it echoes in the silence, I open the door, it creaks. It shutters. I reach for the bag. And then I stop. Eyes calculating. And I reach for where the wand should be, where it fell, and my hand grabs onto it, but it is not there, but it is. It is invisible, it is allusion. And what does that mean? Forgotten. It means they are not coming. They are already here.

A blink. I pick it up, another blink it is in my hand, it is real, it is solid. My voice is soft,

"Lumos."

The light causes an eerie aura, and I walk, one foot before the other. The stairs are cold; the railing is made of ice. It cracks beneath my hot fingers. I step down, and then I turn back. The train is gone. The red paint erases itself. The train tracks paint themselves into grass, the platform number disappears. The trees grow towards the blackened sky. Hogwarts shrinks in size, and then another blink. It is gone. I look around. I am all alone. In the forest. Concrete beneath my feet mirrors that of dirt. I reach out a hand into the air, head cocked and I touch the empty air and my hand makes contact with the trains red paint. But there is no train. My breath catches, my wand raises. The light dims and then snaps out. As if sucked from me. And then I see them.

They rise from the shadows, cloaks made of dusk and darkness, their eyes are painted to seduce, intrigue and forget. They lose you in their stance, powerful. They do not flinch at my raised wand. Their eyes hold a mystique that drives me mad. They stand in formation as if it has been planned. They do not wince at my direct gaze, instead they tilt their heads, they move as one, all stepping forward, all breathing in time. They are the body of serpent each dark entity a shining scale.

They wear all black, they wear masks, arms exposed, death eaters, the snake crawls through the skull, and I can see emerald eyes, I can see too much, too little, nothing at all. My senses are distorted. They step forward, they are there. They are here. They are here for me. And death has arrived. And death is laughing. He finds me funny. I raise my wand. I take a breath. I have never killed. I would never kill. Violence is not the answer Rose. Rose? Can you hear me, I'm talking to you. No sound. No reply. Too much, too little. It is over.

The mask falls to the ground, Thomas has a wicked grin.

"Why hello Rose. How was your trip to the police station, did you have fun? I almost thought you wouldn't show up. I would have been so disappointed if you didn't though. Wouldn't you be?"

I stare at him and raise my chin, eyes weary,

"Careful Thomas I might take that as a threat."

He steps forward. I can see the death eaters walking towards me with him. I back up, I can feel my heals hanging off the edge of the platform he stops before me. He stinks of alcohol. His eyes hold pity and he whispers it,

"I am sorry Rose. But I had no choice. Somehow you are important, somehow I have to."

I stare at him my mouth opening; he presses a finger to it, long, deadly, his skin is ice cold,

"Shhh…"

I watch as Thomas grins and he laughs, high, eyes wide. Dark shadows appear to his left and right, apparating to a crouch, Death Eaters. There masks are dark. Faces shrouded. His voice is loud in the darkness,

"Success is a staircase."

I stare at him,

"You climb and you climb and you can't make it to the top."

He steps forward,

"One needs a stepping stone."

"James Potter is your ladder to power Rose. He is your ladder to a future worth living."

And then he ducks his head, eyes wide,

"And you are my ladder Rose BlackThorne, my stepping stone to success, my staircase to the top."

I shake my head, backing up, his voice is mocking,

"You will use him and then you will toss him away, you will abuse him because it just makes sense."

I raise my wand and my chin.

"Try me. Watch me grow; watch me fall into the shadows. You think everyone wants power, but I want peace. I want peace you fool."

He shakes his head, eyes sad,

"No you don't. They are in your head Rose, they have seen things, they know you inside and out. And they find you funny, they watch you battle your morals with fists raised. And they laugh. They laugh Rose. For your morals are weak and you will succumb."

He raises his hands, stance wide,

"We always do."

I stare at him and he raises his wand and I raise mine. He grins.

"You are not a fool, the odds are simple you against us. US against you. There are millions of us Rose and only one of you."

I stare at him, and arch a brow,

"Bring it on you idiot."

He laughs,

"You should be a Gryffindor, because a smart girl would have started running by now."

I arch a brow,

"No a smart boy like you would have realised I have already won."

A blink, a swish of my wand,

"CRUCIO!"

A scream splits the night in two. Thomas falls to the ground, eyes widened in horror. His bones snap and break and his screams echo. And I can feel it. Guilt. Sorrow. Regret. I am backing away, wand held up and a flick, I hear another bone snap, I close my eyes tight, I can see the hotel room, my face in the mirror, bloody, veins hanging from my lips, I open them, my hand trembles. They surge forward. I feel my heart thud and I scream it.

"STAY BACK!"

I raise my chin, eyes rimmed with red,

"Hear me? He dies if you take one more step forward."

A laugh. I stare at them. The foot raises, and comes down, the step is taken. One. They are daring me. They don't think I can do it. And they are right. I lower my wand. The tears streak down my face, and I shake my head,

"What do you want? What could you possibly want from me?"

They stare at me, and as one they move, a step forward again, Thomas lets out another scream, I stare at them eyes wide,

"I have nothing you desire. Nothing you want."

Another step. I stare at them. And then the leader, his eyes look at me, a blink, and then he raises his wand, and his look just like mine, he takes off his mask, and his face, his face is so similar to mine. I stare at him and he grins, and there is a glint in his eyes, a glint I have seen in the mirror and he screams it,

"Avada Kedavra"

And Thomas does not scream again.


	25. Death has a new name

Chapter 25: Death has a new name

~James' POV~

The drink hit the floor. The glass broke. The alcohol was dark brown. It sloshed across the wood, and it turned it red. I didn't ask why it was red. I didn't want to know. Life has choices. Options. Everything adds up. Each mistake piles into one big disaster. And you learn over time to see it coming. But back then we didn't know. And we didn't see it coming. And the red head ran with doubt in his eyes. And nothing made sense. And the body hit the ground. And she screamed. Eyes wide open. Body crumpled. The train tracks were red like the floor. Red like the liquor that licked at the flames. Red like the hair of her saviour. Red like the blood in our veins. My favourite colour used to be red. When I was a child. I cannot remember when that changed. But now I fear red. Me. James Sirius Potter fears red. What a fool I have become. To fear a colour.

You know that moment that you stop breathing. And you stare ahead. And you can't blink. And someone is calling your name. And they are saying she needs you. They are saying she is dying. And your hand trembles. And you see the best moments flash before your eyes. Her smile, the light in her eyes, the way her fingers felt, the warmth of her pulse, the breath on your neck, her fingers on your back. The way she fits against you when you hug her. The brilliance in her eyes when she opens her mouth and speaks.

No. I don't know that moment. I am not familiar with it. People don't need me. Because I give no one the right to have expectations. Expectations can be let down. It means people believe in you. And that leads to trust. Love. I don't know those things. You could say it was new to me. The feeling of her calling my name. You could say I wasn't used to it. You could say James was naive. James messed up. All James' fault. I wouldn't be surprised. I wouldn't be offended.

And then you are running, or falling, or apparating. Time, space, life. Hangs suspended in the brokenness of the moment. And you land and you are moving. Everything is a blur of the past. And you cannot move, you cannot breathe. But you feel like you are moving. You do. And then you see her. And he is holding her. And his eyes are apologizing. Fred's eyes are saying I am sorry. And you cannot forgive him. Because betrayal and saving comes hand in hand as brilliance.

And then she is laid on the bed. And you are by her side, and your hands are desperate, frightened, they are shaking, you cannot breathe right. And James Potter's hands are never desperate. Never frightened. Your breath never shakes. Why? Because that isn't how I work. It's not what I let happen. I never let it get that far. Get that bad. I always stop it before it happens. Destruction. And you are searching for a pulse. And you cannot find one, or maybe you are too scared to find one. And your hands are shaking. And they are holding you, people, people you don't know, everything is just a blur of colour. A blur of red. You can't see right. And in your gut you feel it. Something has gone terribly wrong. And you know you can't fix it. And they are laughing. Everyone. Everyone finds it funny. But I don't. I can't laugh. The façade drops like dust. And there is no concern to put it back up. And your hands are fists and they are hitting anything they can reach.

And her eyes are open. And they are green. And her lips are trembling. And she can't blink. And she is screaming it, over and over, her voice hoarse, her pupils bloody, her bones mush, her mind blank, her hands claw, she can see things, eyes wide open, she is seeing too much, too little, nothing at all. She doesn't understand. And she is saying, over and over endlessly,

"I can't remember. I can't remember."

And you know that something has snapped. And there is a pain in your chest. That you do not understand. And then comes the blame. You blame yourself first. For not being there. For not asking questions. For not wondering every now and then. And then you are blaming Fred. For going too late, too soon, not at all. And V. For letting her on the train. But no matter what. You don't blame her. You can't blame her. Because she is this broken creature. This broken thing. And you care for it, each shard, and each crumble of her existence, and you pick up the pieces and you cradle them in your arms. And you try to remember with her. Why you ever left. What life would be like if she isn't there. And you start to realise you need her. And then you are yelling Bad James. Cruel James. Idiot James. Selfish James. Blind James.

And then Harry is there. Dad is there. And his eyes are wide. And he is wondering why I am crying. And I cannot remember when I started to. And he has never seen me cry. Not since I was very little. And he reaches for me. And now I have someone new to blame. Someone like him. Someone who is bigger than me. Someone who created me. Someone who hurt me. And you hit him. And your fists are big. And he is frail from the fall. And the minutes are fast. And you are worried not about your image, but her. And they are all watching you. Your family. Your friends. And they are scared. Because before them, on the floor, on broken knees, clutching her and screaming at Madame Pomphrey is me. The incredible, heroic, perfect, James Potter. And they cannot understand why this great man would be begging for her to close her eyes. For her chest to rise and fall.

And with this new, scary feeling of pain comes anger, rage, boiling and cascading in your veins. And you are angry, and it accompanies the blame. And you are hitting anyone who comes too close. And you are wild, and crazed. And regretful. And you blame everyone. Its everyone's fault. But mostly yours. You hear me James? It is all your fault. And then time folds and ripples and fate laughs, head thrown back. And the forgotten stare on, through those green eyed windows they watch the broken boy fall to the ground. And they are surprised who knew he would care for the little dying girl. Who would have thought he cared so much. Who would of thought he was capable of such things.

And the wands are out, and Hermione is there, and her eyes are closed, focused, she is doing magic, she is trying to save her. She has to save her. And then it happens. In a blink. Her eyes close. Green eyes. Her lips stop trembling, her voice stops echoing. And the pulse is found. But is it beating or not?

Life is a fragile thing. You reach for it. You grab for it. And then you forget that you have to keep it close and value it, and that throwing yourself off of the cliff is a bad idea. And they forgot. I forgot. And the blame is fresh, and hard, and hot and boiling. So is she alive? And does it matter? Because those eyes are seeing too much and she cannot handle it and she is dying either way. If not today then next week, or the week after. Because no one can survive that. What is to come. Not even me. James Potter. The invincible. The incredible. I thought I could survive this. Her on the bed, limbs detached, pulse varied but I cannot. And a weakness is derived. And the forgotten watch it. My weakness. And they have it in their jaws, and then, one day, a minute from now, or a year, or on her seventeenth birthday they will crunch them close, and she will gasp for air. And she won't breathe again.

The sorting hat is heavy. I remember the satin feeling. The soft material. The stool was too short for me, my legs were crossed, my heel ticked, hitting the ground in a rhythmed, perfectly unbroken pattern. Boom. Boom. Boom. I was grinning, cheeks flushed with the excitement. There was not a pair of eyes in the room that were not on me. The stage was mine. Every teacher, every student was leaning forward, just a fraction. And whispers echoed off of the great hall's vast walls. McGonagall had just called my name. That is when the hushed descended. And the word "Potter" was murmured.

The steps up to the platform were too short, so I exaggerated my entrance, each step long, the heel of my shoe hitting wood. Click. They all watched on. They all wondered. I was the first Potter since Harry on that stage. Since Dad on that stage. I was wearing robes lined in gold. And it was expected. He will go to Gryffindor. He has to. And I did have to. Because you don't have a choice.

The first year is always the most important. The first day. The first meeting. You never forget the first time you meet them. And no one will forget the first time they met me. I raised my chin, shoulders back, hands loose, gait relaxed, confident, a tad arrogant, a tad young. Maybe a little naïve, not that I'll ever admit it. It was all a show. Exaggeration hinted in the right spots, subtle interest and intelligence tinted at the edges. A scratch of the surface was like the first page of the book, but the rest was locked. I was a mystery.

The press never got their hands on me, not till Hogwarts. Not till the train station. My parents were careful about that. They wanted me to grow up different. Oh well. Too late for that. People are attracted to people who are confident. But the humble ones, they are the ones everyone wants to be. So they admire the ones like me from afar, and they whisper, and then Albus comes along, and they want to know him, to be him. And maybe I do to. Maybe we both do. Or maybe not. It's all so confusing. Want. Desire. Need.

I lowered my eyes; the hat was heavy, heavy with the burden of the need of success. How old was I then? Fourteen? Thirteen? Age is forgotten. But I remember the faces. A sea of them. All looking at me. It was the first time they all looked at me. I loved it. I loved the way they wanted to know me and yet feared who I might be. It was wonderful.

It weighs down my head. The hat. It smells of hair. Of must. V went before me. It screamed Ravenclaw. I was surprised. Perhaps at that point the crowd was thinking the hat could say anything about me, maybe Hufflepuff, and that would be funny. I think they would have laughed like I was a joke if it said that. I didn't want to be a joke. I sit down. The seconds pass. The hat speaks. Its voice groans to life. It sent a chill down my spine. It was in my head. My father told Albus you could choose. But he never told me that. He never crouched down and held onto me and said it doesn't matter where you go, you will still be incredible. Because just like the crowd he expected Gryffindor. Without hesitation. And I thought that to. I thought of course it will say all I am is brave. Blindly brave, incredibly, sensationally brave.

The voice was deep, dark, like talking to the silence, one word,

"Interesting."

I take a breath, my eyes closed; I have never focused, and will never focus as much as I focused on telling the hat what I want as I did in that moment. Never. A thought, two words,

"What is?"

A chuckle,

"You are complex, you are a Potter and yet, there is something different. Something I cannot identify. You are not just a Potter."

A breath, I could feel my hands ball to fists, a pin could have dropped and we would have all jumped. Its voice was just a murmur in the darkest corners of my mind, in the cabinets and the chests of files of memories forgotten. It echoed.

"I can see so much and so little. I see a darkness, I see a light. There is a rage not quenched, there is a hatred not reassured, your mind is brilliant."

My eyebrows came together. I could feel my mind searching for the intruder, hunting the voice out, and it was a game, a game of convincing, but how can you convince someone who walks the chambers of your mind? It went on, just a glimmer,

"You are loyal to your friends. You would die with them, for them. You would support them even if it is not what you believe. That makes you strong and weak."

The floor is cold, the room was freezing, all I could see is little lights, dancing in front of closed lids. A twist in the words, a turn in the sentence,

"You are intelligent, your brain expands and contracts, I can see brilliance that will change the world, a step ahead, but it is confusing, your brain, it is more developed than even the most brilliant men."

I open my eyes, they are staring, they are all wondering. I was on the edge of the seat, I could feel my heal hit the floor faster, over and over, endlessly, and it shaked. The world. And then he said it. That hat. What I fear the world to see. What I refuse to admit. And like a worm he crawled through the darkest parts of my mind. Voice echoing,

"But more so, you want power. In fact you would do anything for power. You crave it, you would kill for it, you would die for it, you would murder, and destroy and pillage, and you would crumble the greatest just to be recognised as more than a mask. More than a name. More than a Potter. You crave fame, your blood boils for it, your mind gets high off of it, you want to be a legend. You want to be a king. In your own right."

I close my eyes, fast, squeezed shut, a chuckle, dark, a hand reaching into my thoughts, groping at them,

"You are brave. But recklessly so, stupidly so, you would throw yourself off of the cliff for fun, not caring if you die on the way down or are saved. You crave adrenaline, the rush of it, violence, you adore it. You are a fierce lion, wrapped in the skin of a snake, with the eyes of an eagle and the soul of a badger."

A whisper,

"So where do I put you?"

I wince, my eyes relax, my fists uncoil, I can see dad, great dad, great Harry, he stands before me when I open my eyes, and he smiles, his hands are soft, his voice is quiet, his hair is falling into his green eyes, his smile is lovely, I adore it. I am sitting on his knee; he is putting on my pyjamas, red ones. Mum watches us from the corner, she is sitting on the floor, Albus in her arms, she ducks her head, red hair long, Albus plays with the strands, little fingers running through them.

Dad kisses me on my forehead, eyes tender, and he whispers it,

"Who do you want to be James?"

I remember my eyes closing; I curled into him, smile wide, ear to ear, dimples forming. I tug at his glasses, and answer back, soft,

"I want to be great."

He shakes his head, and places a big hand on each of my shoulders, looking me dead in the eye,

"No. Who do you want to be?"

I grabbed onto his cheeks and pull them to and fro, and giggled, and I took my finger and pointed it at him, poking at his heart, eyes wide, innocent, voice not wavering, voice steady,

"You. I want to be just like you when I grow up dad."

His eyes crinkle, and he ruffled my hair, eyes sad,

"Why?"

I grin,

"Because you are super-duper cool dad."

He laughs. I blink my eyes close. The stool beneath me is warming up. The room is hot. Their breaths are held. And I smile, genuine, my mind yells it, yells it at him, the hat, the future, fate,

"Gryffindor."

The hat laughs,

"Why?"

I close my eyes and raise my chin, voice steady,

"Because I have to make him proud. One day he has to see that I can be just as good."

A quiet,

"Just as good as who?"

My eyes open, I look out to the huge audience, everyone is silent, they are wondering, I am the first Potter in this room in a generation. I am the new generation. I grin, and tilt my head to the side,

"Just as good as my hero."

A pause, and then the hat opens its mouth and yells it to the audience who is waiting desperately,

"GRYFFINDOR!"

And they are standing and Teddy is running and he is picking me up and I am hugging him, grinning ear to ear. I am turning. The blue robes shine bronze. And that was the first time I saw her. She sits next to V, and her eyes found mine and I remember thinking that she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and that I needed to learn her name. That it was necessary. And then she looked away. And she didn't ever look back. And that was that. Over. Done. Boom.

And I sat down. And I forgot about her. About everything, because the hat was right, I would do anything for my friends, I would jump into flames laughing; I would strategize the best way to get out of homework but most of all. I would feel it. The feeling of appreciation. Of being on top of the world. And I remember it. The people who introduced themselves, the grins, the pretty girls, the heartbeat. My heart beat. Excitement. Just like that I was swept away into the idea of fame. The idea of being a legend just because of my last name. Because it is that easy. But now I am different. I am done being remembered as just a Potter. I am ready to be remembered as something bigger. Better.

~The day of the accident~

The door closes behind me. I stare out at the empty training room. And grin. I just arrived back from the Ravenclaw dorm room. It is noon. And somewhere, far away, Rose BlackThorne gets on the train to go to the police station. But I didn't know. No one ever knows. The wheels turn, Fred walks up to her, John slips into the castle, gaze pausing on the two students who are talking, he watches them. Rose and Fred. And he regrets. The bad ones always regret when it is too late. And then he doesn't look back. Not again. Never again. His time is running out. But he doesn't know that. And neither did I.

Thomas goes up the great stairs and to the owlery. He pauses. The bird is perched. Wings black, each feather shining like death. He doesn't smile. The note is attached to its leg. He uncurls it. His fingers shake. It's from his father. The note says. In simple writing that he has to do it. Because the Forgotten have his brother. His little brother. And he needs to do it. He crumples the letter. His head in his hands. He goes back downstairs and he grabs a bottle of fire whiskey. His hands shake. His hours are numbered. He didn't know. I should have known. Rose should have known. It's too late though, isn't it?

I take out my wand and stare at the wood. And smirk. Dropping it to the ground. It hits with an echo. A voice breaks in, soft, feminine, strong,

"You in need of a duelling partner?"

I glance up, Hermione stands at the top of the steps, her hand resting on the railing, eyes looking out, past me, at the great chamber, and I laugh, it echoes off of the walls. She lowers her gaze and sends me a soft smile,

"Is that a yes?"

I grin,

"Anytime. But I never win. Not against you."

She laughs and I blink and she stands beside me, robes billowing around her, white mist following her like a cloud. She sighs. And relaxes her stance a little. Shoulders drooping. Her eyes find mine,

"It has been a long week James. And a long month. And soon a long year."

I stare at her; she sends me a soft smile,

"But it is worth it. Working this hard. It makes me better. It keeps me alert. Prepared."

I lean back slightly and sit on the bottom step, legs extending and look up for her,

"Prepared for what?"

She looks down at me,

"First we duel. And then we go to the meeting room. And you and I talk."

I close my eyes and scrunch my eyebrows together,

"Talk about what?"

She sighs, and runs her hands over her arms, hugging herself, eyes distant,

"I've figured a couple things out. Big things. Changing things. It's a puzzle, but I found a piece, it's just what it is connected to."

She sighs and comes and sits next to me, reaching down and taking off her heels, stretching her feet to and fro, and smiles at me,

"You lucky men, your beauty standards make your life so easy. Last month I spent a week just going through all the complaints female workers have with the dress code. Why must we wear something past the knee? Why is a bra necessary? Why is a summer dress inappropriate? Why do I have to wear heels instead of sneakers?"

She gives me a long look and laughs,

"The men's complaints were four, one, why suits, two, why suits, three, why suits, four why suits."

She glances at me,

"It's an endless battle against you hairy homo-sapiens."

I laugh and duck my head,

"Well I apologize on behalf of those four men."

She shakes her head,

"Don't. They have every right to complain just as much. It's just tiresome, how society limits us even when you are on top. I hate heels. Torture devices. I don't care if my legs look long or not. It doesn't affect my brain cells. If anything the pain becomes distracting."

I lower my eyes, she laughs,

"You find me amusing. You are silenced because you think I am blaming you. But you are mistaken, I do not bring up the topic of sexism in the work place to make you uncomfortable, but more so because you are my friend, my colleague, my nephew, and therefore I am confiding in you of the daily, tiny struggles I still face."

I take her hand in mine, and look down at her golden wedding ban. I can see his arm flying. His own wedding ban shining red with blood. My voice is soft.

"Is Andrew okay?"

She arches a brow,

"You haven't visited him? He's in the hospital James, you should go see him."

I shake my head, eyes squinting shut,

"I can't."

She shakes her head with me,

"Yes you can, you are just afraid that he might blame you."

I feel my breath catch and quickly put on a smile, she gives me a long look,

"He won't James. Just like if you were him, and he cut off your arm to save a lot of good people and sacrifice himself, you wouldn't blame him."

I stand and round on her, eyes dancing, with a fury hardly hidden, fists formed in milliseconds, voice biting,

"YES. Yes I would blame him. Because arms don't just grow back. When an arm is gone, an arm is gone, and his profession is fighting, and now he is disabled. In fact if I was him I would not just blame I would hate, despise, be disgusted to face such a bastard as myself."

I turn away, teeth digging into my lip. She stands and stretches, sighing,

"All that self-hate is unhealthy."

She slowly walks till she is in front of me, and takes out her wand, with a slight flourish,

"I suggest screaming at me for the entire afternoon, it'll make you feel better, letting it out."

I lower my eyes,

"I don't hate myself."

She sighs,

"We all have things we don't like about ourselves. Some of us only focus on those things. And some of us try desperately to improve. And the best of us learn to accept them, and eventually like them. Or just stop criticizing them."

She raises her wand and bows, eyes never leaving mine,

"Ready to become humbled?"

I laugh and pick up my wand and lower my head, backing up one step, two steps, three steps,

"Never. But it'll probably happen anyways."

She smiles, eyes soft,

"Don't fight to kill, fight to outsmart. Everything, every step, every blink weighs down if you come out alive or dead. Injured or perfect. Everything is calculated, never assume your enemy is weaker than you or you are better than your enemy"

I nod my head.

Five. She raises her wand.

Four.

She blinks.

Three.

My feet scrape the ground.

Two.

We both raise our wands.

One.

"Expulso!"

The world blows up. The room shakes. The fire burns my flesh, and I blink. And she is invisible. Disappeared. I weave an allusion around me. But the fire burns me, and the smoke is not hidden and somewhere in the burning light does she smile. It roars around us. The flames lick. I close my eyes. And I cheat. My fingers going to one of my pendants, a single touch and my body cools down protected from fire.

I raise my wand,

"Lelontrenada,"

And the lights blink out, the fire rages, now black, the smoke stifles us, a stroke of her wand and the flames retreat. Disappearing to air. I close my eyes trying to hear her footsteps and then there is a knife, placed at my throat, her voice echoes on the walls,

"Cheater."

The pendant melts off of my arm, disappearing into darkness. I wince, she laughs, soft, voice quiet, to my right, my left, in front, behind,

"Sorry James. I swear you're my favourite nephew. Don't tell Al I said that though."

I roll my eyes, and say nothing, backing into the middle. And then the air changes, descending to a cold, and she stands before me, eyes closed. I grin, raising my wand and go to say a curse, but then she multiplies and I am surrounded by hundreds of her. All with eyes closed. And then the room is spinning, and I am reversing it, I weave the illusions as she creates them, I rip them away, sending spells in every direction, I whisper protego, and a couple other protection charms. Eyes shining. Adrenaline singing.

And then I see it. The Hermione with her eyes open. And I whisper it in my mind,

"Fiendfyre"

And the fire rushes towards her, whistling in the wind, she grins, twisting her wand, hair flying behind her,

"Reducto"

And the fire curves in on itself, falling into its centre point, folding in, she twists it around, it snakes, and she transforms the flames to a serpent, its eyes are red, its scales shine, it twists into the air, its fangs drip and it charges, I roll to the side, my robes tear, I feel a single droplet of sweat fall. I blow out my cheeks and touch my wand to my lips. Giving the beast a chaste wink, and blow, and out from my jaws flows venom, boundlessly, it sprays up, and the cries of the great monster echo across the stages. And it begins to crash towards the ground but I am already transforming it to dust. But too late. My back is to her. And her wand is already coming down in a cruel arc,

"Extendianda,"

Boom. Time stops. Every atom is split apart. I am not human nor am I alive. I am extended in the second she holds. Everything floats apart. Everything is broken apart, my limbs, time itself slows, everything stretches, I wince, imagine the pain of each joint being pulled to its maximum, and I close my eyes, focusing on the dust on the floor, I fight it, my hand materializes, my fingers gasp to move, my wand comes back, she is turning her wand in her hand, lips beginning to move, too fast, too slow, and my wrist moves, just a brief flic, the dust roars to life, the spell breaks. I crash to the floor as it spins upwards, the tornado heads towards her, dust flying in the wind, roaring through the room, each particle whipping by, but she reducts it. Her wand moving in a cruel arc, the dust flashes to the ground, spreading across and she expands each particle and it grows, they become hot to the touch, I let out a scream, and her hands are moving, and they rise with the movements, my skin breaks, blood seeps into my clothing, I let out another scream, my hands tremble. Her voice is soft.

"Focus James. Find your way out. Breath James. The pain is only as real as you perceive it."

I close my eyes. The blood is hot. It stings. My eyes are blinded. The dust sears my flesh. Burning and cutting through bone. I let out a breath. She breathes with me. Her voice is sharp. It leads me. I focus on it. Her breath. Her movement. A flick.

"Deromia"

She crashes to her knees. Wand skidding across the floor. The dust crashes to the ground, expanding and then disappearing into thin air. A blink. My wand works quickly. I heal the wounds, teeth gritted, lip pulled between them, tongue rolling. I let out a sigh and yawn. She has a slight concerned look, voice soft,

"Sorry, did I go too far?"

I give her puppy eyes and she laughs, voice soft,

"Oh please you know that doesn't work on me."

I stick out my bottom lip, a blink, she is gone. Wand flashed from the floor. Her voice comes from behind. In front. Everywhere. I cannot find her. It distracts, echoes, pin points and falls. Her words curve in the air, not from one place but from all around me.

"If you lose focus the charm breaks. Focus is your greatest weapon, that and your mind. They can determine if you live or die. Understand?"

I nod. I turn. Robes whispering on the floor. She is behind me. Our eyes meet. A blink and then I am crippled. She whips her wand, the tip going to her voice box and she yells, the sound multiplies and breaks through me. It vibrates the walls and breaks the ceiling, it rumbles through my bones, it confuses me; my hands go to my ears. I feel my breath suck in. She is already moving, but I am moving with her, she lowers the shards of the ceiling faster. Great marble and paintings and murals descend, I can see the stone and the jewels shine. The sunlight is blinding. She darkens the room so the sunlight is all I can see by. A blink. The sound is overwhelming, the sun is bright, hot. It cuts me. The objects are benches form hitting. Survival is skill. You survive if you can outsmart. My hands shake. A breath. I steady them. And I am moving.

Boom. The ceiling is reducted, and it flies back in place, I do a simple silence spell and the sound is sucked out of the room. The silence is unerring. I blink a couple times. All I can see is spots. The silence means I cannot hear where she is in the room. And my sight will take a couple seconds to restore. Think James. Think fast.

Too late. A simple spell. I am flying into the air. Non-verbal. The air captures me and I hang suspended.

She moves a stray hair out of her eye. My vision is cleared. I growl. She gives me a warm motherly smile. A flash of her wand, I fly upwards. The ceiling grows closer, my wand is moving. Uncalculated. I am released from the charm. But I am too high in the air. I slight gasp. I fall to the ground. And let out a groan, sending her a glare,

"Ouch."

She ducks her head, eyes sorry, I roll to the side and summersault till I am standing, cracking my neck. I roll my shoulders back and grin,

"Is that all you've got?"

She laughs and snorts,

"Idiot. Don't provoke me."

And then her wand is moving fluently, the world spins by, and I feel my stomach turn and then she is walking forward and she throws hexes at me, left and right, I block and par them, hand formed in a fist, she flicks her wand up and then down, and then she begins to weave, the illusions come at me, knives, snakes, lions, eagles, death eaters, bombs, and I deflect. And then some of them become real. I duck a flying knife and catch it mid-air, throwing it back, raising my wand, and the match commences. Close courters. Breath quick.

"Densaugeo"

I roll to the side,

"Entomorphis"

She deflects,

"Mutatio Skullus"

It hits me hard, and I place my hand on my chest, and tap my wand three times, grasping hold of the charm, I enlargen it and throw it back, she throws up a protection charm.

"Colloshoo"

I deflect it and pace to the side, right foot over the left; she does the same, she lets out a breath,

"Feel more relaxed yet?"

I nod my head, she smiles,

"We can call it quits now and let your dignity remain,"

I roll my eyes,

"Yes. Thank you for that insult Aunt."

She giggles, and lowers her eyes,

"Maybe your strong Rose will teach you a lesson or two about respect."

I grin ear to ear,

"Maybe she already has."

She ducks her head,

"You are happy."

I nod my head,

"Of course."

She closes her eyes and smiles,

"Oh James. Never loose concentration in a duel."

I realise just a second too late, and she is behind me, wand held to my temple and a flick and I am suspended in the air, another flick and flames rise around me, and she grins, the woman in front of me fading to dust.

"Getting distracted can lose you your life."

I arch a brow, and sigh,

"That's cheating."

She shakes her head,

"No. That's strategy."

She walks to the stairs and sits, flopping down, another flick she catches my wand in her left hand, I growl,

"Let me down Hermie."

She shakes her head,

"Not like that. You'll kill me if I let you down right now. Plus, there is something oddly appealing about beating the famous hot shot James Potter."

She takes her wand and does a few large sweeps, cleaning the room of the damage we inflicted. And then she lets me down. My back hits the ground with a boom.

She sighs and runs her hands through her messy hair and smiles softly,

"Oh James what a mess I have made."

I roll onto my side,

"What does that mean?"

She shakes her head,

"For the first time in a long time I need someone to help me. I can't do it alone. Anything."

I sigh with her and stand, rolling my shoulders back and sit next to her, eyes closing,

"Me too. I am scared we are losing."

She laughs,

"No James. Let me correct you. We ARE losing. They are winning."

I glance at her,

"Then what do we do?"

She sighs, eyes closing,

"We change it, we make it better, we come together."

I let out a breath,

"You are wrong. Because we are doing our best. And we are failing."

She gives me a long look,

"I am not doing my best."

I open my eyes,

"What?"

She stands, hooking her heels onto her index finger,

"I said I am not doing my best."

I take her hand in mine,

"Why not?"

She glances at me,

"Because I value something over winning."

I give her another long look,

"What?"

She turns away from me,

"My sanity. I value my sanity more than winning. My brain. My intelligence. I cannot let go of it. And it is a flaw of mine. It makes me selfish. It makes me weak."

I close my eyes, I can see Rose, asleep beside me, her eyes closed, a soft smile on her face, and then I can see the drawings, the shaky hands, the red eyes, the broken figure, the tears. And I close my eyes.

"Does it? Or maybe it makes you reasonable,"

She shakes his head,

"In a war reason is the first thing thrown to the wind, for better or for worse."

I close my eyes, and smile softly,

"V is okay. She is doing okay. She is there for Hugo, for Rose."

She laughs, and turns to me, her eyes hold tears,

"Why the hell should she have to be there for them? When I should be?"

I lower my eyes and shake my head,

"I don't know. I think you're doing a pretty good job at the parent thing,"

She shakes her head, and waves her wand, grip soft, and a golden daisy grows out of her palm, the petals bloom and expand, and she holds it, and stares at it, voice soft,

"Being a mother is a big job. I know you think us parents are unbreakable, are perfect, have to always be there. But it gets tiring. And it is what we signed up for. And merlin I love them. I love everything about them."

I don't stand; gaze lowered, my voice slightly harsh,

"It doesn't matter if you can't handle it, because think of them, all alone, and they have never been through this, and if you give up on them because you cannot handle it then how must they feel? When they are lost and alone in the darkness and you leave them there. Then who is responsible for what they become? Who? Them? Or you?"

She stares at me, and lower her eyes,

"No one is. There are a million tiny factors that make us who we are, there are bigger ones and smaller ones, and medium sized ones. And the parent may be a big one. But never James, and hear me,"

She stands, turning to face me, fist closing on the flower, the petals crushed,

"Never blame someone blatantly. Because it will destroy them James. And they may not be able to recover. And then who do you blame when they are crushed by your words? Do you blame yourself? Can you handle that?"

I shake my head,

"You don't understand."

She grabs onto my hand, fingers soft,

"It isn't about understanding it's about empathy. About going into their skin and seeing their point of view. And getting to know them through that."

I rip my hand from her grip,

"Since when is your work better than the people you love?"

She shakes her head,

"I have responsibilities to both my family and my work. It's about finding a balance."

I stare at her,

"But if you had to choose one?"

She lowers her eyes,

"I don't have to."

I step away, and look out at the room,

"Why are you so indecisive?"

She stands slowly,

"And why are you so drastic?"

I bite my lip, hands balling into fists,

"No one ever told me that it's okay to not decide."

She closes her eyes,

"James…"

I arch a brow,

"Yes?"

She shakes her head, eyes hard,

"Stop blaming Harry for who you are. Parents only can do so much. Friends only make so much of a difference."

I back away a couple steps.

"You wouldn't get it."

She leans back on the steps,

"I obliviated my parents."

I stare at her, my voice shakes

"Yeah, I know."

She shakes her head, a silent tear falls, it is clear, it runs down her cheek, she does not wipe it away, her voice is rough,

"No you don't. You are surrounded by people who love you. It is not their fault you push them away."

I turn away, and scoff; she does not raise her voice, and goes on,

"I obliviated them. And they will never remember me. And I visit them. In Paris every spring. And I follow them to the park, and to the little cafe, and I watch them and they are smiling. And I sit and I think how can you smile when a part of your life was ripped from you? I sit and I think what kind of monster am I to have done that to someone?"

I turn to her. Her eyes are glossy, she does not blink, she stares very far away, to a world I cannot see,

"They are growing older. I won't get an invitation to their next anniversary. I can't give her a gift for Mother's day. They don't celebrate my birthday. I wasn't there when they retired from work. I couldn't congratulate them when they bought a new car. I won't ever sit on their couch and watch documentaries, I'll never hold their hands, or hug them. And who's fault is that James? Huh, who do I blame?"

I lower my eyes, voice soft,

"Yourself."

She shakes her head,

"There you are wrong. No one. There is no one to blame. I messed up. But I had to mess up. I saved their lives. I spared them from the war. I made their lives better. And I will regret that decision for my entire life."

She stands and walks slightly past me,

"It happened in the past so I cannot change it. So I will not blame anyone. Because it is a waste of energy, of time, of happiness. Just because I don't blame me doesn't mean I don't love them any less, it doesn't mean I miss them any less, it doesn't mean I hurt them any less. But it does mean I won't hate me. Because me, I am the most important thing in my life. And if I blame me I am destroying myself. It's counterproductive."

I lower my eyes. She steps forward.

"Empathy James. It covers miles, it changes lives. It opens eyes."

She starts up the stairs, once by one, feet barefoot, I glance up at her. She glances down. Her eyes shine. She shakes her head.

"Think of Rose James. Can you even imagine never having a family? Ever? Being lonely all the time, thinking you are worthless, blaming and blaming, and burying yourself under the self-loathing. You think you have it bad? Everything is at your feet. Harry, your mum, Albus, even Lily, they are all waiting for you to care about them. And it's funny."

She turns around fully, towering above me, her eyes do not leave mine.

"It's funny because you are waiting for them to care about you. So who will be the brave one and take the first step?"

She turns around and walks up those stairs. Leaving me alone.

She pauses at the top of the stairs and waits until I am beside her. Each of my steps is heavy. She takes her wand and wraps her fingers into mine pressing the tip into my palm.

Her voice is soft,

"I spoke to them once. I promised myself I wouldn't. But I did. I wasn't as strong as I thought I was."

I close my eyes. The streets of Paris are covered in cherry blossoms, the wind is soft, it laughs in my ears. The ground is stone, soft under shoes, the trees sway in the wind, the little flowers blow away, and they run in the sky, swirling in clouds of pink and gold. The sun is high, the clouds are white. The river runs by, its waters are light blue, its railing is made of gold. The sun shines on its clear waters, little pebbles dance on its bottoms, and on the banks grow little daises, the flowers yellow and royal pink. The sun glorifies each petal. Bees buzz around them, and little pixies dance on big mushrooms, tiny feet beating a rhythm to the streams song. As the water laps on moss covered edges. The memory has a sad happiness. It makes me pause. The world is colourful, the image of perfection.

There is an elderly couple, they are smiling, wide, they walk in front, arms interlinked, laughing at something, a newspaper tucked under an arm, a smart phone in a back pocket, turned off. The grey hair is flecked with browns and caramels. They smell like home. I look past the image, and I see her. Hermione. She sits on a bench. She is wearing yellow; the dress is young, beautiful. She doesn't have grey hair but she does have the wedding ban on her finger. Her eyes stare out. The wind has a light breeze, it laughs and spins by her, picking up each strand of hair delicately and throwing it in the wind, they dance as golden strands. Her eyes are half lidded. Her pose is relaxed. A book folded on her lap. The Iliad is scrawled across the front in big gold print. Commercialized. But the cover is worn down. The same copy is in my dad's office library. One of the first prints. Her hair is lose, she is younger, but not by much. And she looks up, and she sees them. And her eyes. They tell stories. Beautiful stories. And there is a hope. A hope that they will recognise her. And it dies, because their eyes move past her, like they would any other stranger. And they walk away. By her. And she is standing, a flurry of movement. And she is running, shoes soft on stone. She calls out.

"Mom, wait!"

The couple stops and turns back, she catches up, she stares at them, her eyes are shaking, her breath is caught. She smiles wide, but it does not reach her eyes, the woman speaks, the older woman to the younger woman,

"Mom?"

A tear falls from Hermione's eye. She doesn't wipe it away. The book is clutched in her hands. Her knuckles are white. She lets out a gasp. And her face crumples, and she shakes her head, her voice soft,

"You look so much like her. Like my mum. I'm sorry for bothering you…"

She steps back, and lets out a soft sob, turning slowly. Her mom calls out. Voice a whisper.

"Oh hunny, it's okay."

She pauses. And looks back. The wind brushes by them. The pixies stop dancing and look up, eyes curious. The sunlight shines. The trees sway in the breeze, flowers and yellow leaves dancing around them in the swirl of the wind. She smiles, eyes shining bright. And ducks her head. Voice a whisper.

"Thank you."

The old woman steps forward. Her smile matches Hermione's. It has the same small curve of her upper lip and faint dimple on her right side. She takes one of Hermione's shaking hands in her one. Her skin is wrinkled but warm. Her voice is soft,

"Tell me about your mum. What was she like?"

Hermione slowly raises her eyes. Meeting the caramel eyes of the woman she loves the most in the whole world. She smiles big, but her eyes won't stop shining with fresh summer tears. She gives a little sniff,

"She was incredible. I miss her. A lot."

The woman leans closer,

"What happened to her dear?"

Hermione stares at her. Eyes wide. Her mouth won't move. Her voice shakes.

"She moved somewhere very far away."

The woman gives her hand a soft squeeze,

"I'm sure she loves you very much."

Hermione lets out a sob. Her hands desperate. And she holds onto the little old womans hand with all the life she has. Her lower lip trembles.

"Thank you. So much."

The woman looks down. Her finger traces the wedding ring, the gold shines, she smiles,

"Are you a newly wed?"

Hermione stares at her. And she lets out a soft, watery laugh.

"Yes. I got married last week. Me and my husband are here on our honey moon."

The woman gives her a huge grin, eyes glowing with a soft, forgotten love,

"Congratulations."

Hermione smiles soft, the old woman smiles bright, Hermione's voice is like a lullaby,

"I see you in this park so often around this year, I almost feel like we know each other by now,"

The old woman tilts her head,

"I'm sorry, I don't think I remember your face."

Hermione ducks her head, and shakes it, eyes downcast,

"It's fine. I just wanted to say hello."

The old woman smiles and her husband steps forward slightly,

"Next time you'll have to introduce us to your husband. He must be a very lucky man to be married to a woman like you."

She stares at him. Her eyes shine and I can see a million memories of him driving her to school, reminding her to wash the dishes, teaching her how to ride a bike, helping her get her driver's license, arguing over what the true purpose of the tongue is. I can so much in her eyes. So much in his. He goes on, voice soft,

"Do you visit here often?"

Hermione lets out a slight sigh, her eyes are shining,

"Yes. It helps me remember, calm down, it almost feels like home,"

Her dad smiles wide, lighting up his eyes,

"How wonderful! Do you live around here or just pass through?"

She stares at them, eyes wide, and sniffs slightly,

"I pass through every now and then. It's a nice place."

Her mom nods her head,

"Yes. We retired here. If only we had a child to share it with, right?"

Her husband smiles, and Hermione stares at her and turns away, the tears are soft on her cheeks, closing her eyes and walking away, but her mom calls out,

"You have a pretty smile, it's just like mine,"

Hermione stops and lowers her eyes, her voice a whisper,

"Isn't it?"

The old couple laughs, her dads voice is soft,

"Your face. I feel like I've seen it a thousand times. I just can't remember where."

Hermione turns back slowly, her smile is broken,

"It's a weird feeling right?"

Her mom's smile falls and she stares at Hermione, looking deep into her eyes. Her voice a murmur,

"Have we met, somewhere before?"

Hermione smiles, her voice shakes.

"Who knows? It's a small world."

Her mom steps closer, head tilting to the side, the river sings, the breeze picks up. Her voice is soft,

"I feel like I know you."

Hermione steps closer. Opening her mouth. And then she closes it, ducking her head. Voice soft,

"I'm sorry. But you must be mistaken."

A quiet. The three stare at each other for a moment. A heartbeat. Hermione clears her throat. The last tear runs down her cheek. Soft. Her voice is just an echo.

"I should get going. Maybe I'll see you next time."

Her mom smiles wide,

"That would be nice."

She turns away. Their voices are quiet as they walk on without her. Her dads voice singing out,

"What a nice girl. Right Monica?"

Her mum's voice is just a murmur,

"Her parents must be very proud."

Hermione does not move. The wind flies by her. The leaves tangle in her hair. And the tears dry to just soft tracks on her skin. The sky darkens. And many other people pass by. She stands by that river and she looks out. And she says nothing. Nothing for a long time. And then she walks. Each step slow to the man with the red hair that stands before her. Ron. His eyes are careful; she gives him a small broken smile and shakes her head. And he is moving and pulling her close, and she collapses in his arms, sobbing. The tears flood and his shirt soon becomes wet. And he holds her desperately saying soft words. Hands tangled in her hair. The rivers waters do not slow and the stars shine bright in Paris that night. And slowly the image fades. Her wand, warm with memories leaves my palm, and the light that was admitted from the memory turns to darkness.

The stairs come back, and so does the training room and the soft fragrant wind of Paris, France is left behind. We stand and we stare. Her eyes are sad. A scar that has not healed, a scab reopened. We do not speak for a while. Her hair whispers in the slight breeze. And the room encompasses us. I look up at the ceiling, painted with great scenes of the final battle. She is there. Her wand raised at the snake that towers over her, fangs dripping, her arms wrapped around Ron, and Neville stands behind them, the sword raised. Their eyes are painted terrified, young and terrified. And there. At the centrepiece of it all is Harry and Voldemort. My dad and his worst enemy. Wands raised, sparks flying. Red and green. Good and evil. But the world is not black and white. Not clear and dark. I close my eyes. I can hear her soft breath. In and out. In and out. Her hands are limp. She doesn't shake. She doesn't tremble. She is stronger than the rest of us. But yet. Who would want to be her? A woman who is torn from her family and lives like this. With a brain no one can win over. A brilliance contained, because the world is never ready for the brilliant. So the brilliant let their brains go to waste, and corrode, and burn and turn to ash. Because they want to be normal.

I don't want to be normal. I want to live forever. I want to be painted on the chapel ceilings, and I want thrones built in my name, I want power and power until everyone bows on the ground before me. I want them to recognise me as not a Potter, not a Gryffindor, not a Wizard but a God. A legend. Someone superior. So how did she do it? How did she refuse the chance at such power? How could she? Who in their right mind would do so? When the government could be yours. And you could rule why would you say no? Why would you let someone like my father rule over you? What makes you refuse it?

Her eyes are hazel. Hazel green. They are gazing up at that ceiling too. And there, deep inside of them I can see a wistful dream. My voice is a whisper when I speak. Just a whisper.

"Do you ever get bored?"

She doesn't look at me. Her hand rises and she traces that ceiling with it, tracing the outline of Fred's face as Bellatrix kills him. Her eyes don't blink. She looks at Sirius, crashing into the veil, Remus falling to the ground, skin cold. Snape dying under Voldemort, Harry peering through the door. Lily crashing to the ground in front of Dad's crib. Peter in the street, turning into the rat, the bodies lying on the ground, left behind. She parts her lips. The blood runs from those walls, it is laced with greed and lust. Her lips part, her eyes stare, glassy, almost confused of what's real and not real. Her voice echoes in the great room,

"Yes. All the time."

I stare at her,

"How do you resist it?"

She shakes her head,

"Sometimes I can't. And my hands shake. And my wand has a different use. But then I breathe. Deep. And I close my eyes. And I think of all the people that died so I could be alive today. And it humbles me. Enough to not let go."

I tilt my head to the side,

"Let go of what?"

She stares at Dumbeldore, hit with the green light, Snape's hand interlaced with Draco's as his wand moves in the cruel arc, his body falling down and down. She lets out a soft breath. He hits the grass with a crash. Bellatrix lets out a cackle, I can see her eyes filled with a horror, a sickened horror. Her eyebrows come together, she stands on her tip toes, slowly rising, her fingers reaching at the glory. She lets out a choked sob. And shakes her head, ever so softly, voice a murmur,

"Control."

I lean forward. Voice fascinated,

"Have you ever thought of what it would be like? Letting go?"

She lowers her eyes, and stares at me, head tilted to the side, eyes shining, her pupils are large, I can see the vein ticking in her neck, she leans closer, just a hairs breathe,

"Yes. All the time."

I step forward. My voice catching, eyes hungry,

"What would you do? If there were no consequences. If you could, for once not be bored."

She shifts her gaze back up. Her eyes resting on Voldemort's face, his wand pointed at Ollivander, his eyes greedy, hungry, raging mad. She arches a brow, her voice hard when she speaks again. Tongue arching in her mouth, her hair blows in the soft wind that curves around her, I stare at her, I can see a magic, deep and dark emitted from her veins, her veins shine golden. She stares at it. The ceiling. The possibility. She closes her eyes and lips in a split second. Her feet hit the ground. A blink. The power is gone. She looks frazzled, tired. Soft. She shakes her head, voice shaking.

"I do not have the freedom to imagine such a thing."

I laugh, soft, eyes never leaving hers,

"Why not? What's stopping you?"

She looks at me, her eyes hard,

"My morals. My heart. My heart rules far stronger than my mind. I conquer myself, so I do not become…"

I step closer, eyes meeting hers. Fire and ice. Dark and light. Or maybe just grey. Everything is grey. There is no darkness, no light. My voice is deep, an echo of desire.

"Become who?"

She stares at me. Eyes a little frightened as they search mine. She stares at me. She sees the hunger. She knows the feeling too. I know she does. I am not imagining it. I lean closer. Her eyes tremble. Wide. Her voice is a whisper when she speaks again. Like what we are saying is secrets. And perhaps it is. Her voice drips with careful tones. A slight tint of restraint.

"Boredom can be forgotten with distraction."

I stare at her,

"Do the Forgotten distract you?"

She says nothing. I go on. My voice calculated,

"Or do you understand them. Their thinking, their genius and grin because they are doing a good job. Or…"

She doesn't say anything. Frozen. Eyes wide. My voice is biting,

"Or do you enjoy the thrill of the fight. It's like a game right? Who wins, who loses. Which battle, what they plan next. And you are not doing your best because it isn't your sanity you will lose. It is your humanity. Right?"

She doesn't speak. Her eyes don't blink. They turn red. We stand there. Breathing soft. The room is vast but the space is small. And we are meant for much greater things. She doesn't speak. She can't. She knows that there is too much we are losing, too much she is fighting for. I know that too. We have people we could lose, aspects that make us weak. And she knows that too. We don't speak. Eventually she steps back. Her heel hitting the ground. Skin on forged marble. Boom. Her eyes shift to the ground. Her voice doesn't break. It's steady. Its careful. It's a warning.

"Careful James. I might think you are power hungry."

She doesn't look at me. Her finger nails dig into her skin. I close my eyes. A sickening horror slipping over me. I can feel emotions rise and fall like my breath. I almost slipped. I step back as well. We stand feet apart. Both of our eyes closed. Heads bowed, fists formed, veins filled with adrenaline. And the world doesn't see it. And the history books won't write it. Because we are the good guys. And everyone expects us to do the right thing. So we will. Too many people to let down. Too human. Too weak. Or maybe too strong. We both let out a long sigh. Fingers uncurling. We both tilt our heads back and look up at the arched masterpiece above us. Both pairs of eyes rest on Tom Riddle, just a child, sitting on his bed in the orphanage as Dumbledore leans over him. The cabinet catching a flame. It sings in our blood. It writes horrors. It tells us secrets in our sleep. It is not a darkness. It is human nature to crave it. Absolute freedom.

Silence.

A soft chuckle, I clear my throat, soft, voice louder in the still,

"I was just kidding. We are good people Hermi,"

She doesn't say anything. I clear my throat again. My mind skipping back to Paris. The wind was soft. The sun was high and golden. My voice is softer when I speak again,

"Why didn't you restore their memories?"

She sighs, glancing back down to me. Her eyes won't meet mine. She is quiet for a moment. And then she speaks.

"It's risky, obliviating is one thing, but giving them back, it can go wrong, some people are not strong enough to survive it."

I let go of her hand,

"You could have tried,"

She lowers her eyes,

"And tell them what James? That their daughter manipulated them?"

I shake my head,

"No, you saved them, Hermione, they would understand,"

She turns to me,

"Would you?"

I glance down,

"What?"

She raises her chin slightly,

"Would you understand if someone took years of your life and made them into lies? When the war ended it had already been two years, two years is a long time. Can you imagine two years of your life being fake? I promised my parents that I would never use magic against them. I broke that promise."

I shake my head again,

"Then you are a coward, too afraid to face them,"

She lowers her eyes,

"Yes. I am. But I don't think they would like me, the me now."

I reach for her hand,

"You're wrong, they would adore you."

She glances up at me, and gives me a sad smile,

"One day you'll grow up a little more and see things differently. And you will understand that the mistakes we make today cannot be undone. We can accept or we can try to change. But changing becomes a mess. A spiral."

I sigh,

"You should have given them their memories"

She arches a brow,

"They could have gone insane James. Our minds are not built to be torn apart and put back together whenever we please. That is too great a risk for me to take."

I open my mouth,

"But-"

She closes her eyes, her voice cutting in, soft,

"Obliviating cannot be truly undone. It can unravel the mind and burn the person. It can kill them. Destroying the mind once is already a great risk. Doing it twice? If they died, from shock and I blamed myself I would have died with them. I saved them. And I pay the price. They feel no loss, they do not miss, they live a life I have woven with no regrets. A beautiful life that they used to dream of having. And every year I send them money. So that that beautiful life can continue."

I narrow my eyes, voice soft,

"And where do they think the money comes from?"

She shrugs, eyes never leaving mine,

"I don't know."

I laugh,

"Liar. You know, you just don't want to tell me."

She lowers her eyes, voice quiet,

"I don't lie to you James. Ever. I tell you the truth and then I help you handle it."

I stare at her. Her eyes meet mine. Clear. Soft. Strong. Loyal.

"I'm not lying. I don't know. Trust in that."

I shake my head, my voice soft,

"Trust? Truth? Those are things you can't put your faith in."

She looks into my eyes. Her voice is a murmur,

"What does that mean?"

I arch a brow,

"Once a liar, always a liar."

She sighs,

"And when have I lied to you?"

I give her a long look.

"You lied when you said you would protect me always."

She arches a brow,

"When have I ever let you down James?"

I step back,

"You will. Everyone does. That's just the way of the world."

She gives me a soft look. Eyes sad, so very sad. Almost pitying. I hate pity. Her voice is just a murmur,

"Will Rose?"

I nod, no hesitation,

"Of course. And I have to prepare myself for that."

She steps closer,

"How can you live like this? And call it living? What is life without trust?"

I arch a brow,

"A life with no rules, no weakness."

She laughs, broken,

"Is that a life you look forward to living?"

I step closer. My voice ragged,

"No. But if I have today I do not intend to waste it."

She shakes her head, eyes shining,

"And what of tomorrow?"

I arch a brow,

"Nothing lasts that long."

She closes her eyes and tips her head back. She does not cry. She is stronger than that. She lets out a breath. Soft. Her voice a whisper.

"I remember the first time I saw you. In the hospital. You were a little hairy blob. I was nervous, my heart was palpating, and Ron kept telling me that I'm not the one in labour. Ginny was full on sobbing. She wouldn't let anyone hold you. Not anyone. She cradled you to her chest and sobbed and sobbed at the top of her lungs. You and her sounded like a choir. Both screaming up a storm. She wouldn't stop smiling. Her eyes were shining like mirrors. I thought how beautiful. How lucky. How gifted."

Her eyes don't open. Her voice is a whisper. Shaking every now and then, trembling with emotions I cannot understand. Beautiful, colourful, outstanding emotions. Her voice wavers but stays strong.

"You opened your eyes in your father's arms. We all peered over his shoulder to see what colour. They were green James. Your eyes."

I stare at her. She opens her eyes slowly. She doesn't flinch. We look at each other. I shake my head, voice a murmur

"What?"

She nods her head. Voice soft.

"They were green. Beautiful green, like a meadows fresh grass in spring, the shine of the oceans shore, the leaf of a daisy, the thorn on a rose, dark like the emeralds found deep in mountains and mines and soft like the sun kissed moss in deep forests. They were green James."

I step closer,

"How? My eyes, they're gold."

She nods her head. Her voice is a whisper.

"Yes they are. Aren't they?"

I narrow my eyes.

"What does that mean?"

She gives me a long look, voice soft,

"Have you ever wondered why you are so gifted? Why you can do things no one else can?"

I nod. My voice drops to her volume,

"Yes. But dad always said it was just a coincidence."

She shakes her head,

"Nothing in this world is coincidence. One day you will learn that."

I step forward,

"What's wrong with me?"

She searches my eyes, her voice soft,

"You told me to never lie to you James. So, I don't think I will answer that. But I will say it isn't something wrong it is something wonderful. You. You are my wonder boy James Potter. And the world? They aren't ready for you, not just yet. Because you don't know you. Not quite. Not fully. And I wish I could help you understand it. But I don't know it. As much as I hate to say that."

I step closer, voice a whisper,

"If I am so wondrous why am I such a bad person?"

Her eyes swim with emotion and she laughs, soft, broken, eyes never leaving mine,

"There is no good or bad in this world. There are just people. And people mess up and mess up, and we must still love them cause they are all we have."

I shake my head,

"People are ordinary. But I'm not. I'm not ordinary."

She tilts her head to the side,

"And what defines that low standard of ordinary. What makes you the judge? Who knows all people and can judge all people as above or below you?"

I open my mouth. And close it softly. She smiles. Soft.

"You think we are the good guys?"

I nod my head. She takes my hands in hers. Her eyes steady.

"And you think they are the bad guys?"

I raise my eyebrows. And give her a duh look. She sighs, and tilts her head to the side, eyes slightly amused. Her voice is just a vibration, so very soft,

"They think we are the bad guys and they are the good guys. So really we are all just guys. But that is sexist. So all just people. Humans. Or to be more broad, animals. With the need to protect what they love, and the disgusting obsessive need for power. More and more. So it doesn't matter if we are good or bad. Because there is no difference, everyone thinks they are good and everyone else is bad. So really? We are all just fools walking the maze of life and trying to beat the other person out. But we are all lost. And we are all hurt. And we are all weak and trying to be strong. And we all are fighting for something. Someone."

Her eyes stare into mine.

"And that. That is what makes the Forgotten so scary James."

I stare at her. Her eyes are scared; I have never seen her eyes this scared before. Her voice trembles,

"The Forgotten are not walking the maze of life. They are not human, or animal. They exist. And yet? Do they? They do not think they are good and they don't think we are bad. They do not know right or wrong, black or white. They have no compassion or love. So they are strong and trying to look weak. So we will not take them as the threat they are."

Her eyes narrow.

"They are playing with us. Seeing our weaknesses, setting us up for the first act, for this is only the introduction and they are getting each of us to where they want us to be on the stage. And they control the curtain. And I have no idea what's next. What they want. What they need. But I think you know. I think you know a lot James. I think it is time you start trusting someone. Someone like me. Because I trust you James. I would trust you with my life, if it came down to it."

I stare at her. She is quiet for a long time. And then when she speaks again, her voice shakes,

"Lily and James' wedding anniversary is coming up next month."

I tilt my head to the side,

"That's random."

She licks her lips. Eyes broken. When she speaks again, her voice shakes.

"What is Harry James?"

I arch a brow at her, giving a little snort.

"My dad. A legend. A hero. A father. A husband."

She closes her eyes.

"What else?"

I let out a soft laugh,

"What do you mean?"

She winces, I can see a clear tear slip down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away. She turns her back to me. Her voice shakes.

"Why is Lily and James' anniversary so important to me James?"

I shake my head,

"They're dead. So why would it matter?"

She turns to me slowly. Her voice shakes.

"If…. If your parents are dead, what does that make you?"

I stare at her. I can hear the blood rush in my ears. I shake my head. My voice hollow,

"No-"

She ducks her head, eyes not meeting mine. Her voice is a whisper.

"Harry is an orphan James."

The room whirls by me. I can feel bile hot in my throat. I can feel my system shutting down. My hands tremble. I form them to fists, I shake my head, voice unsteady,

"No."

She looks up at me, her eyes meet mine,

"When you told us about Teddy, I knew. I knew."

I stumble back. IDIOT. DUMB JAMES. BLIND JAMES. NIAVE JAMES. FOOLISH JAMES. BAD JAMES. HORRID JAMES. I stand there. Hands limp by my sides. My eyes wide. She searches my face, gaze soft. She goes on, voice a murmur,

"Not just him, but Hagrid, and Neville, and Amy Benson, my secretary. We- we are surrounded James."

I feel my fac crumple. Eyes wide. She lets out a soft breathe.

"I cannot. I cannot let them continue working at the ministry James. I will have to fire them. All of them."

She shakes her head, she runs a hand through her hair,

"If only I was smarter James. If only I could make things better."

I stare at her. Hands forming fists, my voice shakes,

"Its all his fault. Dom dying. Everything. All his fault."

She stares at me, shaking her head,

"That's not fair James"

I let out a scream, lips curling back, eyes wide,

"No. You are wrong. He has ruined us. We don't stand a chance without him. The people, the people won't be on our side. The people need him Hermione. They only believe in him, they only follow him."

She steps closer, I back up, fingers curling around the wood on my wnad,

"He is abandoning us. He is abandoning me."

She shakes her head, voice a whisper,

"No James. He doesn't have a choice- he had no idea-"

I laugh, high,

"You are wrong, how can you be in Voldemorts head and not know he was planning this? How is it possible that he had no idea? It isn't. You're wrong."

She shakes her head, I go on, voice biting,

"He isn't on our side. Hermione, he must have known, how can you not?"

She stares at me, her eyes are changing from soft to angry, I go on, raging,

"Fire him Hermione. He is a spy. He- he betrayed us. He doesn't deserve it-"

She cuts me off, voice raised, eyes burning,

"SHUT UP JAMES."

I give her a wild look. I have never seen her this angry before, her voice shakes,

"You listen to me, this will destroy him. DESTROY HIM. And you want to blame him?"

I open my mouth, words pouring,

"You wouldn't understand, he isn't"

She cuts me off, eyes burning into me,

"No its time you listen James. The adult is speaking."

She looks me square in the eyes, her lips tremble,

"Harry is the best person I have ever had the pleasure to meet. He would sacrifice his life for you any day. He would give up everything just for you to be happy. You have no idea how hard it is to watch your kid become someone like you. Someone who kills. KILLS JAMES. Let me ask you this, where is your remorse?"

I stare at her, flinching back, the hurt paints itself across my face. The mask hitting the floor. She winces at her own words. She takes a step closer, I step back, eyes wide, my head shaking, she closes her eyes, and lets out a soft breath,

"I'm sorry James. Crap. I didn't mean that. I was just angry."

I step back. I can feel a horrible feeling in my stomach, the bile is hot in my throat. I shake my head, my voice a whisper,

"Your eyes. You weren't lying. You were, you think, that, me?"

She reaches for me, palm up, eyes shaking,

"No. James listen to me."

I tilt my head back, I can see Voldemort eyes staring back at me, his wand coming down in a cruel arc as he kills Severus. I can hear my own pulse. I stumble away from her. My wand is cold. Everything is cold. I can see Teddy's eyes as the body hits the ground. I can see Fred's eyes as I cling to him, hands bloody. I can see Dad and Mum avoiding my eyes at the breakfast table the next morning. The coffee cup slipping from Dad's fingers and hitting the floor with a crash. I can see Mum rushing to clean it. I can see Albus turning away from me, eyes full of a fear. I can see Rose. Rose staring at me as I punch Thomas. I can see a fear in those eyes. I can see a fear in everyone's eyes. Why is evberyone so afraid of me? I run a hand through my hair, she reaches for me, her eyes careful, searching, soft, motherly,

"James, merlin, I'm sorry, it splipped out, I, no one thinks that, no one James, you are a great person, I love you, we all do, so, so much."

I shake my head at her, tongue running over lips,

"Its fine. No. Don't-don't be sorry."

She reaches for me, her palm up, an offering. Her eyes are caring. They drip of love and kindness. I don't need kindness. I don't. I. I'm fine. I'm James bloody Potter. Of course I'm fine. I can see McGonagall looking at the floor as I tell her about how my friends thought he was alive. But he isn't. Wasn't. Will never be. Never again. I blink. Hard. Her voice is a murmur,

"Oh my little wonder boy,"

I stare at her, eyes shining with tears. She extends her hand again. I real backwards. I am turning. Nothing is left but smoke. Nothing is left but ash. And bone. And an empty feeling of forgottenness. What is it like? Being so alone James. Being so lonely. I can hear Mum's voice whispering at night,

"Do you think James will fit in, at school?"

I can see my dad's soft smile,

"Why?"

Her eyes on his,

"Sometimes, when I look at him, he looks so lonely. Why is my little boy so lonely?"

My back hits the ground. Its dirty, grimy. I lay there. Eyes wide, staring at the moon. Good James. Beautiful James. In control James. Perfect James. PERFECT JAMES. Where did you go? Were you ever here? What is image and what is reality. Why does everyone pretend to know me? Why am I like this? Who do I blame, me or dad? Me or Harry. It has to be his fault. Because I'm perfect. So how could it possibly be my fault? He told me to always be strong, be brave. I tried. Damn it. I tried so hard. I bang my head into the cobblestones. My wand rolling from icy fingers.

Hermione stands alone in the great room. Eyes closed, hand still extended, white smoke rising around her. She opens her eyes and looks up at the great ceiling, her eyes land on Harry lying in Hagrid's arms, limp. Dead. She doesn't cry. She stares. She says nothing. Her hand falling to her side. Empty.

The bar surface is cold. The alcohol is sweet. The bottle is chilled in the air, a spell keeping it a float, ice swirls around it, chilling it to perfection. It is golden brown. Like my skin. Like the sun. Like Roses' hair. Like a lot of things. Ordinary things. Like my eyes. Like me. Remorseful James. Murderer James. Killer James. I close my eyes and swirl the liquor in my mouth, I can see a lot. A lot of weird things.

Somewhere far away Rose gets off the train. Thomas is in front of her. There are two forgotten. Twenty-three Death Eaters. And one man. Except he is no man. He is a monster. Who lacks humanity and moral. A monster I have met before. There is a green light. Two hours left of life. Death is ticking bomb. We've all got one. Thomas hits the ground. She is running. Towards him. Brave Rose. Stupid Rose. Blind Rose. Dead Rose. The train lets out an eerie whistle, it echoes in the silence, each word is a body. She doesn't speak. He runs a finger down her cheek. The fingernail is caked in blood. Dried, wet, dark, light. His eyes are hers. But his heart isn't hers. Pieces fall in place. The Forgotten watch. They wonder if he will follow through. If he fails them. They wonder how fast they can kill him. Or if he will kill them. They bring her to her knees. I swallow the alcohol, it burns my throat. They tilt her head back. My finger hits the table. Once. Twice. Thrice. The flames reach for the sky. The green light burns. The forest trees grow roots made of human flesh. She screams. Her wand hits the floor. But she fought. She fought well. Didn't we all though?

The club lights flash. I grin. The music drowns out other sounds. I swing the drink back. The liquor burns my throat. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Heels hitting the ground. A big smile.

"You look nice Potter."

I arch a brow and look at her. My vision blurs and I shake my head and push her hand off,

"I'm not in the mood."

I can see diamonds on a neck, my vision blurs, her voice is soft,

"Me and you at a bar. Drinking underage. To drown our sorrows. To forget."

I shake my head, raising my glass to meet hers,

"Not forget. Distract. That is all alcohol can do."

She dips her head to the side, hair slipping over skin, neck long. I lower my eyes. I hear her giggle,

"Tempted?"

I shake my head, and don't look up,

"No. Woman who lower themselves to having no self-respect have no appeal."

I sigh. Her voice is annoying. I'm sure I've heard it somewhere before,

"I head you only date the ones who have no self-respect."

I arch a brow,

"So you've heard of me."

Another sickly giggle,

"Who hasn't?"

I close my eyes, scrunching my eyebrows together and give her a dark look,

"Do I look like I care."

She shakes her head,

"You look upset."

I nod my head

"I am."

She scoots closer, arm brushing against mine.

"Why?"

I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling,

"Nothing goes my way,"

She grins,

"I am aware."

I arch a brow,

"What does that mean?"

She tilts her head back with me. The ceiling spins by me, I can see train tracks, I can hear a whistle. The lights are blinding. A blink. Her voice is soft, but too loud, too darn loud,

"I get you. Everyone calls you an act, everyone advices you on being better, no one loves you for who you are. An image. They cannot except it because they refuse to give up on you, refuse to believe that that is all there is. All there is to you."

I glance at her. She gives me a long look. Her voice lowers,

"I have an image too. I am a good person at school. But nowhere else. Why?"

She raises her eyebrows, tongue swirling over teeth,

"Because everyone expects that. And I don't want to let them down. Because they will judge you, and talk about you, and put you subconsciously beneath themselves."

She sighs, letting out a broken laugh,

"It's hollow. Love. Life. Alcohol. You. Me."

I shake my head,

"What makes you think them telling me it's an act pisses me off?"

She shakes her head with me, finger caressing the glass,

"It doesn't piss you off, it hurts you. It hurts you so very much."

I bite my lip and stare at the table. No answer. She lets out a hollow laugh. We are silent for a moment. My voice is quiet when I speak up,

"What's your name again?"

She sighs and scoots over, placing down her drink and arching a brow,

"Lola. My name is Lola."

I arch a brow,

"I feel like you're missing something, I am dating Rose. I love her. Back up."

She laughs, and places her drink down,

"Do you love her? How can you be so sure?"

I stare at her. Mouth opening to speak. And then closing. I look away. She giggles,

"So you aren't sure. What makes you so hesitant? Is it because she is too good for you, or because it is too quick to know, or that you don't love anything, that you don't have weakness? That you are heartless?"

I grind my teeth together, the room spins, she tilts her head,

"What? Are you lying about that too? Do you not love her?"

I shake my head, a hand running through my hair. Rose can feel the finger run over her spine, she doesn't cry, she fights hard, even without her wand, she fights back, no words. Each word is a life. She learned that the hard way. The forgotten lean over her, she can see so much in their skin. So much of the future. She can see beautiful mascaraed and blood chilling horrors, they want her eyes. They need her eyes.

I close my eyes, voice a murmur,

"Go away."

She shakes her head,

"It's a public bar."

I roll my eyes,

"Then shut up."

She grins, lips scarlet, rose red,

"Why? Am I distracting?"

I look into her eyes. They are green. Just like Roses green. I stare at them. The room turns. I can see golden hair. A smile. Her hands are warm. Her fingers curve around mine. Her lips are rosy. I can see a blue tie. High cheeks. Soft, thick lashes. I pull away. And shake my head.

"No. You are tiresome."

She grins, head tilted back,

"Liar."

I arch a brow,

"Why are you so bloody interested in me?"

She shakes her head,

"I'm not interested in you. I'm interested in your power. I couldn't give a damn about you."

I let out a cold laugh,

"Alright then. What does hitting on me have to do with my power?"

She leans back, hair slipping over her shoulder,

"Why do I have to tell you anything?"

I stare at her. She blinks. Rose smiles. Her hair is long, soft in my fingertips. Her breath is sweet, alcohol cuts my vision, I can see blurs, my heart won't stop thundering. The glass slips from fingers. Golden liquid falling down my throat. A blur, a burst, it stinks. It is smooth, the glass is empty, another, another. Roses eyes are glorious, I miss them. That bugs me. This James is a bad person. And I fear that I will have to just become worse and worse as time passes. She leans closer, her lips alluring. Her lashes are long, dusted with gold. A pause. No. No. No. NO. Rose doesn't wear makeup. I turn away. Fingers squeezing into a fist.

My voice is steady, stays steady,

"You and Rose seemed to know each other,"

She shakes her head,

"Me and Rose aren't friends, I don't owe her anything."

I laugh and place my glass down,

"She is nice to you,"

She arches a brow,

"She is naive."

I nod my head,

"Maybe. But she is also brilliant. You couldn't compare."

She nods her head,

"No. I couldn't. But I'm not here to be compared to a child James."

I lean my head back,

"Then why are you here?"

A laugh, she flips her hair over her shoulder,

"To strike a deal."

I arch a brow,

"What could you possibly have that I would want?"

She grins,

"Nothing. But my daddy has a few things you might be interested in."

I lean closer,

"Your daddy? And who might that be?"

She rolls her eyes,

"My father."

I nod my head,

"Just checking."

She scoffs,

"He can help you, he has information,"

I sit back, arms crossing over my chest,

"Like what?"

She grins,

"There is a new organization forming in the muggle society. Against us."

I laugh,

"You mean the Red Handed?"

She arches a brow,

"You've heard of them?"

I shake my head,

"There are rumours. But they don't matter. They are unimportant. I couldn't care less."

Foolish James. I am making another mistake. I keep thinking each threat stands on its own. But I am wrong. They are all one in the same. The Forgotten, the nightmares, the golden eyes, the death eaters, the politics, the red handed. They are all strands in a web. I am a fool to eliminate one and focus on the other. They are all one in the same. Just with a different face. A different name. Nameless. They take whatever form is useful to them. The expect me to ignore them. And focus on what is in front of me. But they will be behind. To the left and the right. Above and below. She shakes her head,

"They need to be stopped James. You and I, we get each other."

I give her a long look,

"What makes you think that?"

She takes my drink and stares into it, swirling the pooling alcohol along the edges,

"We both are the children of powerful people. We are both in Gryffindor when the hat whispered us to choose Slytherin. We are both at a bar, drinking under age, trying to breathe, learning that breathing is over rated."

She sighs,

"I told little Rose that I wanted to interview you. She believed me and yet you call her brilliant. I call her innocent. Her innocence will undo her. It's a major flaw, she trusts everyone to be better than what they are, because she has hope that everyone can be good, can do good, can change. That's why she doesn't hex Thomas, because she can't do it."

I glance up,

"Thomas? What does her and Thomas have to do with anything?"

She glances down,

"She didn't tell you? He's been following her around, licking at her heels, touching her hands, perhaps she liked the attention, maybe that's why she didn't push him away."

I laugh,

"Thomas isn't interested in her. He wouldn't be."

She shakes her head,

"And why is that? Because you are so scary James? I think it is because you are so scary he is following her."

Rose stumbles over Thomas' body. Her back hitting the floor. They drag her on her knees. She bows before a ghost king. She won't meet his eyes. She refuses to. When he lifts her head. She spits on him. His wand moves. Green light. The body hits the ground. Words. Words spill from bloody lips. She can't hear them. She can't hear anything. Pain is blinding. Everything is moving too fast. Too slow. Not at all.

I arch a brow, voice nonchalant,

"Rose can deal with douches like Thomas. She isn't a child that needs me to follow her around."

She leans back in her chair, placing my glass on the counter, the room swirls like the golden liquid. Her voice is a murmur.

"Thomas could hurt her."

I give her a dumb look,

"Rose can defend herself."

The talons reach into flesh. He lets out a laugh. Head cocked to the side, tongue lolling over lips, blood running down his chin. He is interested, he has never seen resurrection before. A squelch of flesh, a vein pulled out, it hangs blue, her blood is dark.

She gives me a small smile,

"You really believe in her."

I look down at my hands,

"So what?"

She shrugs,

"Its interesting."

I grab the glass, and pour the liquor down my throat, eyes watering. She watches the drunk action and gives a sigh, lips pursed,

"You are a seriously annoying drunk."

I give her a dead look. We fall into silence. Eventually I speak up, voice still attempting to by steady,

"I'm surprised."

She raises her eyebrows,

"Why are you surprised?"

I shake my head,

"Your act, your act of young crush, school girl with a big heart and naivety, dumb, stupid, see through. So unimportant why would anyone look at her?"

She winces,

"Fine. I like playing the part of every bodies friend."

I give her a long look,

"But you aren't their friends."

She shakes her head, eyes dancing in amusement at my drunk state, voice so very loud,

"Why would I be? They don't care about me."

I nod my head,

"I know what you mean."

She gives me a long look,

"The Red Handed are small now, easy to pluck out and keep quiet, if they get bigger they will be not a nuisance but a threat. Don't blind yourself by focusing on just the Forgotten, on just the Death Eaters, on just your love life."

I shake my head,

"You're wrong. Muggles, if they told everyone magic was real who would believe them? Honest? No one. They would laugh. Because it makes no sense to their reality. This has happened before. Over each decade a new little group sprouts and tries hard to fly, because they saw something weird, because a wizard slipped up. But they have no evidence, no proof, and they fade and we do nothing because if we do something then we are bound to be noticed."

She shakes her head,

"What if they could get evidence?"

I arch a brow,

"Who on earth would want to help them?"

She lowers her eyes and laughs,

"Maybe you are right, and maybe you are wrong."

I grin,

"I am always right."

She laughs,

"Then it must hurt your pride when you are wrong."

I lower my eyes,

"Nothing can hurt me."

She gives me a long look, and then opens her purse and passes me a concealer,

"Your lack of sleep is starting to show Mr. Potter. Signs of weakness are bad."

I glance down at her and laugh, and reach up a finger, running it over her cheek, when I take it back the finger is covered in thick make-up,

"If your mask is only made of make-up Lola then you won't survive the game. I suggest you find something a little stronger."

I glance down at her as I stand,

"And next time you want to talk to me, wear more clothes, you shouldn't lower your self-worth to convince someone, you should make it higher, so they want to be like you."

She stands and laughs,

"You are as self-conceited and rude as they say, I didn't wear this dress for you, I wore it because I had a date tonight."

I lean closer,

"You shouldn't wear anything for anyone, you should wear it for yourself, or without reason."

She looks me over, and laughs,

"You filthy hypocrite, why don't you try taking a dose of your own medicine?"

I shake my head,

"I didn't wear this to impress you. I wore it because it is what I am expected to wear."

She shakes her head,

"Your image is getting old James, perhaps your family name is too."

I shake my head,

"And your act is see through and idiotic, and let me tip you off, Rose is not naive, Rose is kind. She is kind to someone like you who doesn't deserve kindness. And that is what makes her remarkable and that is what makes you trash."

She laughs,

"Fine then. Insult me if it makes you feel better about yourself. I've heard worse. I've had worse. If you excuse me, I think I've lost my appetite,"

I laugh,

"We weren't eating"

She stops and arches a brow,

"Rose, she believes you can change, but you can't change someone who isn't even there. You can just switch on the smile and off the smirk."

I stare at her. She leans forward.

"And when Rose realises that, her love for you will wilt like a flower. And turn to dust, and you will be all alone."

I tilt my head back, she leans closer, head going to the side, hair dancing over my skin,

"You should find someone who is on your level James. Unless you want to hurt her. Do you want to hurt her?"

I stare at her. No sound. She goes on.

"She deserves someone good. You are bad luck tied with a red satin bow. No one wants bad luck."

I lower my eyes to hers. They are sickly green. Her voice is heavy on my bones. It drowns me. The room turns. She goes on.

"It's time to grow up James. You'll be seventeen in three months. So what do you plan on doing?"

I shake my head,

"How do you know my age?"

She arches a high, sculpted brow,

"My dad is in the D.A. I often over hear his conversations."

I lower my eyes,

"Your Malfoys cousin, right?"

She nods,

"We're related."

I lean closer,

"Then I saved your aunt, his mother. No thank you?"

She gives me a long look and shakes her head,

"That's impossible, she was never sick. Because if she was sick, no one can cure it. There is no cure for what they did to her."

I grin,

"Whatever you say Lela."

She growls,

"It's Lola,"

I roll my eyes,

"Whatever."

She leans closer,

"You will regret not paying attention to them. The Red Handed."

I shake my head,

"Why do you care so much?"

She grins,

"Because we are elite. All wizards. All witches. If magic is introduced to the whole world then we are not special anymore."

I close my eyes,

"Do you like feeling special?"

She lets out a laugh,

"No. I'm not special. I have it rough."

She goes to stand, my voice calls after her,

"Who told you to come and ask me about the red handed?"

She turns slowly, her eyes are wet. I can see a tear slip. Its black, catching make up as it slips to her chin. She wipes it away, fingers smearing product. She looks away,

"No one."

I stand slowly, hand slipping from the chair, my strides are long. We stand face to face, my hands deep in my pockets,

"Whoever it was, you are not some tool for them to use. You should be brave. Be brave and walk away from them."

She looks up at me.

"Why, am I coward?"

I laugh, she goes on, voice shaking,

"Am I coward for not standing against my bloody family and refusing what they tell me to do?"

I stare at her, she leans forward, voice a whisper,

"You have no idea what it's like. At least your parents know your name. At least they don't yell at you every day for being in Gryffindor and not Slytherin, for finding your secrets. And you, you, the only person they ever talk about, endlessly,"

She shakes her head, hands going to her hair. Eyes lowering,

"Forget that we ever met here. If you have a heart behind that horrible personality you will forget we ever met like this. For me. For my dignity."

I stare at the defeated girl. She turns to go away, I call after her.

"Tell your dad I'll talk to him. But only on one condition,"

She turns back, eyes lowered,

"And what might that be?"

I slide my hands into my pockets,

"That he leaves you out of it."

She stares at me, glancing up, eyes wide. I can see a million emotions. She ducks her head. Voice a whisper,

"You don't have to."

I shake my head,

"And also,"

She glances up, eyes big, green,

"Sorry. I'm sorry for treating you badly. I thought you were someone else."

She tilts her head to the side,

"And who am I? If not this?"

She gestures to the clothing, I let out a low laugh, eyes sparking,

"Someone who is brave in their own way. We are all brave in our own way. Tell your dad to leave you alone. And if he doesn't like that. And kicks you out. Call me."

She stares at me, eyes swimming with emotions I cannot read,

"Why would you do something like that for something like me?"

I look down at my hands, the skin glows, the room turns,

"We all deserve better and only a few of us have the power to give people that better."

She arches a brow,

"I heard you collect people."'

I shake my head,

"What does that mean?"

She sighs,

"People who need help, people who catch your interest, you collect them."

I close my eyes, and then look up,

"No. That's a myth. I just recognise a tortured soul when I see one."

She laughs,

"And what if this is exactly what my family and I wanted you to do?"

I scrunch my eyebrows together,

"Then I am an idiot."

She nods her head, smiling softly,

"I suppose you are. An idiot, then."

I shrug my shoulders,

"Your pretty screwed up Lola, perhaps you should work on that."

She gives me a long look, and then looks down, voice soft,

"It isn't my dad. That did this to me."

I glance back up, she gives me a long look,

"I'll tell him what you said."

I call after her,

"Then who did?"

She looks back and smiles soft,

"Isn't it obvious?"

I stare at her, her voice is soft,

"Who did that to you James? Your dad or you?"

I stare at her. Lips parted. She shrugs her shoulders,

"Then again why does it matter, we are already here, too late to change anything."

My voice is a whisper,

"Is it too late?"

The train tacks swirl. He rips his arm off. He raises his wand. He yells the spell. Her mind goes blank. She can see just white lights. There is a rumble like thunder. The ground shakes, her world flashes. She blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. The trains whistle is haunting, she lets out a scream. My name. Ripping from her lips. She is crawling. Her clothes are caught on the train tracks. She screams. The wheels turn. They grab hands. Darkness crawls. The moon snaps out. Her hair is golden, her eyes are green. Her heart. It stops beating for the second time that night. Her hands are shaking. It is too late for her. For that little girl. That little girl's innocence. It's too late to save it. It is passed too late. Fred runs. His feet heavy. He skids to a stop. He looks down. The train comes. It hits her. She falls onto the tracks, back pressed into metal, flattened. Her eyes are wide open. She can't blink. And when she does she sees too much. He watches the wheels turn. He doesn't stop them. He knows he can't. Not yet. His foot nudges the dead body of Thomas. His eyes find her wand, forgotten on the floor, laying beside the corpse. He has tears in his eyes. She cries for help. She can feel too much. She is so broken. She is crying because she is giving in. His wand is in his hand. He raises it. They screech to a stop. Too long. Too late. Click. Boom.

She turns, her eyes finding mine,

"And what if it is too late? What do you plan on doing?"

I shake my head,

"Something. Anything."

She lowers her head, her heels click.

"Some things are not worth it."

I arch a brow,

"And some things are."

She extends her hand, in it lies a sheet of paper. Crumpled. I reach for it. Our skin brushes against each other. She shivers. I don't notice. My fingers don't shake. They are strong. I open it. The writing is scrawled. It is red. Red like blood. Crimson like hell. I stare at it. Eyes watching it. I look up.

"When did you find out?"

She closes her hand into a fist,

"Everything is connected James. Don't be a fool and ignore one group, while focusing on another. Everyone has a weakness. Find theirs. The Forgotten. The Red Handed. The Death Eaters. Your precious government. They all want something."

I stare at her,

"And what's that?"

She grins,

"The future. They want to know what happens next."

I narrow my eyes,

"That's impossible to know."

She nods her head,

"Yes it is. I suppose."

I lean closer, voice dropping,

"You mean a prophecy. From Trelawney."

She shakes her head,

"Trelawney is old James."

I sigh,

"Very old. But there is no new prophecy. That's just a myth."

She nods her head,

"I don't believe in myths. But they seem to."

She turns slowly, her heels click. Fred runs to her. His hair is red in the darkness. Her bones are crushed. She can't move. She can't see. His green eyes swim in her vision. She tries to smile. But it's a grimace. That little girl was crushed with the train tracks. He is running. Her head lolls against his chest. His feet slam against the wood of the front doors. They burst open. He falls to his knees. He screams for help. Face wet with tears. Teddy is there. Running. His eyes are wide. Lola turns away, her hands drifting to her sides. She glances back, eyes on mine, mine on hers. Her voice is quiet,

"Time is running out James. Our time is running out."

She goes out the door. It creaks shut behind her. The hospital bed hits her back. Its white, but it turns crimson in seconds. Teddy stares at it. Hands ringing. He turns on his heels. Disappearing into white smoke. He hits the ground running. He bursts into the house. My house. Mum and dad run to him. He can't speak. He has tears in his eyes. He looks up, at the clock. The family clock. His hand traces to my name. He sees the bar beneath it. He turns he is out the door, my parents catch onto his sleeve. They are asking him what happened. He says one word.

"Hogwarts."

And then is gone. I pick up the glass and drain it slowly, head tilted back, the alcohol is strong. The glass falls. Slipping from my fingertips. It hits the ground. It shatters. The door bursts open. The room spins. Teddy's hands on mine. I grin. And then I see his face. He isn't grinning. He isn't happy. He is horrified, desperate. His voice screams it, hollow, broken. I can hardly hear it and yet it is so loud it drowns me. Two words.

"It's Rose."

His hands are red. His brow is covered in sweat. He is clutching something in his fist. I recognise it. Dom's necklace, the necklace of Dom's ash that Hermione gave to Rose. The chain is broken. The ash that used to burn red like a coal is now black dust. It doesn't move. It is not alive. It is dead. The chain is seared, the metal is melted in places. I am standing, my mind isn't clear. The room is turning. The crumpled paper falls to the floor. He shakes his head. His voice is a whisper, a whimper,

"The train, it hit her James. Fred, if Fred hadn't gotten there. And Thomas. He is dead. And she isn't breathing, you hear me James, Rose isn't breathing."

I stare at him. Everything is turning. A blink. Another blink. I can see McGonagall. I am in her office. She is smiling. Her voice is soft.

"Dom will be fine James. Dom will always be fine."

I blink. The spinning skids to a stop. My senses have never been sharper. The alcohol drains from my system in a second, I am turning on the spot. I am running. The hospital wing. I can see a crowd. I push my way through. I can feel eyes. Eyes digging into me. Their whispers. I burst the doors open. I look down. The room is crimson. I can see doctors. Twenty of them. They surround her. But between their white I can see her red. V is standing in the corner. Her eyes are wide. She doesn't notice the tears. Scorpius is there. He has his head in his hands, Albus is to his right, he doesn't touch him. He just stares afraid. My dad and mum are there. They turn when the doors slam shut behind me. I stare at the bed. I can see a strand of golden hair. There is a fear. A fear that is new to me. It seems to be contagious. Everyone in that room is afraid. The fear is stifling. That she won't make it. I could feel it. They were ready for the worst. But I wasn't. What is the worst? Death? Can't I save her from that? Aren't I totally cool and dashing? Bursting in, I will go to her and be strong for her, I won't cry, or get angry. Because I am strong. I am James. I cannot be afraid. Not even of this. My feet hit the ground. My strides are long, I push the doctors away, my eyes wide. I wasn't prepared for what I would see. I could never have possibly been prepared for what I would see.

Her hair was matted with blood. Her eyes were closed. Her lip had a cut, she had bitten it, over and over until it bled. She shook. She was crying. But she made no noise. Every now and then a soft whimper. Her hands were limp. And her lips, sometimes they would move. And she would say it.

"I can't remember."

Over and over. Like it was justification. Like it made sense. Her neck was fractured, I could see the bone poking out of the skin, her arms were bent the wrong way, veins lay on the pillows, blue. Her blood is almost black. No oxygen. No red. I can see a popped artery, blood spraying, the doctor's wands are weaving, I can see sweat on their brows. They know. THEY KNOW. Blood is strewn across white sheets, I could see organs, some moving and some lying till. Her chest rises and falls. Slowly. Her skin was scared, bruised, gone. I could see the white of bone and the green of puss. I could see her rib cage, white snapped. Her legs were bent backwards, her toes were curled in, her fingernails were missing. Her hip bone looked out of place.

And then it happened. Something inside of me snapped. I don't remember why. Maybe it was because I had started to cry. I am angry. I am so angry. My face crumples. It is wet. The blood is too red, too much. Too much for her to live. Think James. Save her James. The doctors push me back, I hit the ground. I can see Albus looking at me. He has a fear in his eyes. I sit there. I can't move. The room is spinning again. It is twirling by and I can hear her laugh, Roses laugh, her eyes green, she is standing there in blue, in black, in white. Her hair whispers in the breeze. Her laugh is an echo, her eyes shine. My eyes are closed shut. She cocks her head, hand extended,

"What's wrong James?"

I let out a choked scream, the room swirls by me, I can see faces, I can feel hands, my skin is hot, the bile rises in my throat, I through up, it covers the ground, I slip in it, my back hits the floor, my breathe stinks, I can smell blood. My fingers are red. She lets out a soft laugh, eyes on me, white dress staining red, the ground is wet with blood, her voice is an echo,

"You didn't lie James, right? You love me James, don't you?"

I can feel my stomach turn, the ground is warm with blood, it pours off the sheets, and from the windows, and from everyone's eyes and mouth, it pours and pours and barries me. She turns, bones cracking, veins popping, arteries bursting, everything moving so fast, so slow, too long. Her voice is a whisper,

"Did you lie to me James?"

I cough, I am choking on something. Regret. Pain. Failure. New things. New things I never wanted to learn.

I let out a scream. At the top of my lungs, and I am standing, wand in hand, and Albus is grabbing onto me, he is yelling something, something about how I should calm down.

Then I hear it. The doctors voice.

"She isn't breathing."

"Her heart stopped beating."

"Crap get her heart going again."

"Fix her lungs first. She needs to have her air passage cleared."

"Grow back her skin."

"Clear out the flued."

"Save her."

V is running, she is by her side, her voice is soft, I can see her lips move. She is saying something kind. Something Rose needs to hear. I am punching Albus, hard. He absorbs the punch in a heartbeat, eyes wide, I grab my wand, my lips are moving, I will save her. I must save her. I am clawing at him. Albus wraps his arms around me, pulling me back, I let out a yell, I hit him, scrape him. Dad is there. He is grabbing my wand. I am kicking him. I am screaming. I can see V cover Roses' ears. She is shaking her head. She is telling me no. She is telling me to calm down. To calm down. I can't calm down. I am screaming the spell. My wand is passed to my mom. She holds it, and my hand, I squeeze it, she is strong, she doesn't wince. Her eyes are kind, her words are soft. I can't hear. The room turns. I am throwing up again. Albus is saying something in my ear. Dad is sending a message. Dad who betrayed us. I am lunging at him. Mom is in front of me, catching my fist in her hand, her eyes are kind. All lies. EVERYTHING.

I can see stars. Darkness. Flesh. Bone. Red. My eyes begin to close. I can see the doctors giving a nod. And V running to Scorpius, arms wrapped around him. I can see Frank looking at me, eyes full of tears. Fred sitting in the corner. Head hung between his legs, his hands shaking. John, Lorcan and Lysander are holding a screaming Lucy. Roxy is running all over the room, grabbing bandages, and everything the doctors ask for. Anything the doctors ask for. V is by Roses side. I blink. I can see her hand on hers. Her voice is a whisper. The bones are mending, I can see skin being painted across exposed flesh. I can see Hermione. Eyes wide. Her wand in her hand, she is moving faster than everyone else in the room, a blur of motion, she is saving her. She can save her. I know she can. She can do anything. I feel a tear slip down my cheek. Teddy is there, he is talking to Fred. He is yelling. He is angry. He never gets angry.

Madame Pomphrey is clearing the room, I can feel dad's hands shaking me. I can't stand. I crawl, towards her, I am screaming something. A lot of things. I don't know what. The room turns. I see black.

I open my eyes. The room isn't spinning. I can see my dad. His finger traces a painting of Albus Dumbledore. His eyes shine with tears. The portrait smiles, eyes twinkling. He ducks his head. Puffing out his cheeks. He turns to me. We are in the head masters office. I have never been in it before. I can see James' Potters portrait, Lily is next to his. Severus on her right. He gives me a long look, eyes soft,

"Feeling better?"

I stand, fast, hands running through my hair, voice shaking,

"Rose-crap-Rose-is she? Is she?"

He gives me a long look, I turn away, barrying my face in my hands, voice shaking,

"Don't tell me. Don't-I- I can't."

He lets out a soft sigh. And his voice is just a whisper.

"Rose is stabilized. It took them hours. But she is stable."

I collapse onto the ground, back hitting the wall, hands buried in my face, breath shaking. I let out a choked sob,

"Thank god. I-thank god."

He stares at me. He shakes his head, his voice is just a whisper,

"Her mind. Her memory, its been, tampered with."

I stare at him.

"What?"

He turns back to the painting, and shakes his head, his voice is a whisper,

"They can't tell if its from shock, or a spell, but, she,"

I let out a shaky breath, voice breaking,

"What if, what if she doesn't remember me?"

He bows his head,

"I don't know."

I let out a high laugh, voice rising,

"You never know. You are so god damn useless."

He winces back, eyes shutting, his hands tremble. He whispers,

"I'm sorry. I- James she hasn't woken up."

I feel something warm murmur down my cheek. I catch it on my finger. Its clear. Like glass. I tilt my head to the side. Gasping back a sob. I turn my hand over and let the tear drip to the floor. I turn away, hands wrapping around me,

"Don't be. It's not like you could change it."

He shakes his head, voice softer,

"Don't do that thing."

I cut in,

"What thing?"

He sighs and walks towards me, footsteps soft,

"That thing where you shut yourself in."

I let out a shaky laugh.

"I'm not. I'm fine-"

Another tear slips down my cheek, I wipe it away hastily, sniffing. I lock my jaw. You're okay James. You are strong James. Rose would want you to be strong. Lies. Rose would want you to hold your dad as tight as you can. And cry on his shoulder and tell him how much you love her. And how much you love him. And need him. But you won't do that. Because you aren't Rose. And you might look weak. And you might care for him. And then the blame wouldn't be his. It would be mine. I would have to blame myself. And that would destroy me. It would kill me.

He takes my hand in his, our hands are the same size, but his have more calluses, are stronger, he gives it a soft squeeze, eyes finding mine,

"I didn't know you liked her this much-"

I cut him off, voice roaring,

"I DON'T LIKE HER DAD."

He stares at me, eyes wide, voice a murmur,

"James,"

I pull my hand from his, screaming it,

"I LOVE HER. Damn it. I love her."

I shake my head and collapse onto the floor, head buried in my hands, the tears are hot, I wipe them away as soon as they come. I burry the heal of my hands in my eyes, gritting my teeth together, trying to steady my breath. I look up at him, eyes red, I shake my head, voice trembling,

"And you don't get it, this feeling,"

I look into his eyes, and let out a little sob, the tears keep falling, I wipe them away, fingers wet, shaking. I stare at him, my breath caught. My voice raging,

"I am unworthy. I am unloved."

He stares at me, his tears fall, soft, strong, my voice breaks,

"I am unworthy of being loved."

My back hits the wall, and I feel the tears fall, I blink hard, and blow out my cheeks, eyes not meeting his, hands wrapped around me, because I need a hug, even if its just from me. Its better than nothing. I let out a wet laugh,

"But she loves me. How can she possibly love me? Unless she doesn't know me. But she does. She does."

He crouches down and rests his hand on my shoulder but I tare away, standing, tears falling, I wipe them away, fast, my teeth chatter, I try to grin, but it falls, lips turning downwards, I open and close my mouth, and my hands ball in fists, my voice is angry, I am so angry,

"I will kill them all. Every last person. They will pay. They will pay with their blood. And their families blood. And I will kill them slowly. Crush every bone and pluck every hair. And they will collapse on their knees and beg me for mercy and I will not give it. I will laugh at their cowardice. I will laugh."

I round on him, tears falling down my cheeks, eyes wide, wide with a fear, a fear I don't know how to handle.

"Because this is not okay. She is not okay. And she is all I have. And they can't have her. I can't-they-we-I"

He steps forward, hand reaching for me, the irony, his voice is soothing, soft, he doesn't yell, he never yells,

"James listen to me. Listen to me."

I round on him,

"No. NO. It is time you listen to me. We will destroy them dad. We have to. It won't be okay until they are all dead. I won't be okay. I'm not okay. I haven't been okay for a really, really long time."

His eyes hold a fear. He stares at me, his tears are silent,

"James I am the grown up, I am the adult, go to school, I am telling you to stop coming to the ministry. I am telling you that I am firing you."

I laugh, and scream,

"You're funny dad. Because I am firing you. In fact. Hermione is. Because you are a forgotten, just like Teddy, just like everyone I love, you are corrupted and they are in your brain like a parasite. You are the mole dad. And you are an idiot. So you are wrong. You go home and live your life because you time is up. It's up."

He lowers his eyes, his voice shakes. The tears fall down his face, his lips tremble, his hands shake, his voice is just a murmur, it shakes, he won't meet my eyes, he lets out a sob, his words haunting,

"I know James. When you told me about Teddy I knew. I already resigned."

I stare at him, eyes wide, a tear slips down his cheek and he squeezes his eyes closed,

"Let me be hear for you James. Let me be here for you."

I shake my head,

"Where were you all the times I needed you to be there for me?"

He shakes his head, lips wobbling,

"I was trying to be both a good leader and a good father. And I failed you. And I am sorry James. I am sorry."

He reaches for me but I pull away, the tears burn my skin,

"Sorry doesn't cut it. I wouldn't be like this if you had been there. It's all your fault. All your fault."

I shake my head,

"I have needed you as a father for years. I always try so hard to be good enough for you to recognise me. For you to see that I am just like you. That I can lead to. That I have no weakness, that I am strong. But-"

I crumple to the floor, hands running through my hair,

"I can never live up to what you want me to be, I always have to be better than the best. I always have to be one step ahead. And I am exhausted of it. Because even when I am trying my best you do not notice me until I am broken on the floor. Until now. And then you regret. I see it in your sickly green eyes. You regret."

He crouches beside me, and reaches for me, but I wince, and he stares at me, eyes wide,

"I have always wanted to tell you about my day. To sit down and talk about what I did. And what I ate. And who I talked to. I always wanted to know if you thought I did okay. But you are so busy. You are always so great."

I sob, hands balled in fists,

"Everything you did was better than what I did. And you never congratulated me. You always told me to be a kid. That you missed that I wasn't a kid. That I was never good enough because I grew up too fast. That I was too much like Tom. That I should go to school."

He grabs onto my hand, I squeeze it and he winces, I go on, voice wavering,

"I just wanted to be like you. I'm sixteen dad. At my age you had already won the try wizard tournament, saved the ministry, you were the hero in a war, you were defeating Voldemort. And what am I doing? Sitting at a table taking notes, wearing suits and learning spells."

I look up at him

"I don't want to save anyone. Why can't they all die? I don't care if they all die. I should. I know I should. But I don't. and that makes me a monster. It makes me disgusting."

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close his hands are buried in my hair, his voice is a whisper,

"I'll tell you a secret."

He pulls away and places a hand on each of my shoulders, and smiles at me, his hands are wet with tears, his eyes twinkle,

"I didn't want to save anyone either. I just wanted to protect the people I loved. My friends. My teachers. Good people. People that cared about me. I never wanted to be a hero either. I didn't want to be this either."

He gives me a watery smile,

"Oh James. I watched you grow up, and I thought what a wonderful little boy, how could he possibly be my son? How could I be related to someone so strong. So courageous. I feared you James. You were stronger than me. You were better than me. You were smarter than me. How do you raise someone who is greater than you?"

He pulls me close,

"And then suddenly you weren't my little boy anymore, you were my comrade in arms, my employee, and I felt like I missed something. Like I screwed up."

His voice shakes,

"And it is my fault. James you are right. It is my fault."

He gives me a long look,

"I respect you on a level you cannot even understand. I watched you grow into a legend before my eyes. And I could not be prouder. I could not. But you were so different from me. So different from Ginny."

He takes my hand,

"They say the odd boll is Al, but it's always been you James. You stuck out like a sore thumb."

I stare at him, he pulls me closer,

"I did care James. I watched you train every day, I never missed a training session. You did incredible things. I would stare, and I would wonder how I could create something, someone so special, so wonderful."

His face crumbles,

"But you built this wall. And you become impenetrable. And I didn't know how to reach you. And you started to go through so much. And it was like watching myself grow up. And I couldn't watch. I couldn't bear it."

I push him away, my hands shake,

"I don't care if you couldn't bear it. Because I could be a better person today if you at least tried."

His face crumples and he screams at me,

"You think I didn't? You think I didn't try? All I did every second, of every minute is try and try, I try to keep you in school, I try to keep you in class, I try to keep you away from all of this, I try to reach you. But I can't. I can't reach you. You won't let me."

I look away and wipe away the tears and stand, hands forming fists,

"Never mind. I didn't mean to burden you."

He stands with me and grabs onto my shoulders,

"Stop it. Stop pushing me away. I understand what you are going through. I can help you. I can love you."

I arch a brow,

"Don't you think it's a little late for that?"

He steps closer,

"James, Jay, my son, please, stop acting, I am tired of watching you try to be a better person than me."

I shake my head,

"I am not a better person than you. I failed dad."

He takes me in his arms,

"You didn't fail. You did your best."

I stare at him,

"But it wasn't enough."

He sighs,

"Sometimes it isn't."

I shake my head,

"It has to be. If it isn't then there is no other option. Its game over. So what am I supposed to do? Give up?"

He shakes his head,

"You have to find a different way, a better way."

I stare at him,

"I am losing control. I am killing without blinking. I am shaking at night. I can't close my eyes. I am falling in love. And I am scared."

He gives me a long look,

"Of what?"

I bite my lip, eyes dipping shut, squeezing closed,

"That she will have expectations. And that I will let them down. Like I have let everyone down."

He takes my face in his hands and shakes his head,

"You haven't let me down James. You haven't."

I shake my head, voice a murmur,

"You're lying. Everyone is lying."

He grabs onto my arm, hands soft, I wipe away a stray tear, he watches the action, eyes shuting, just for a second, and when he opens them his voice is just a whisper,

"I would never lie to you James."

I shake my head,

"You can't promise me that,"

He closes his eyes,

"Yes I can."

I pull away, I turn to the paintings, I watch the original James Potter smile, I stare at him, and I sigh, eyes closing.

"It's too late."

He shakes his head,

"No it isn't."

I turn to him, eyes shining,

"I try my hardest to be the best James, the James everyone can love, and then, everyone, EVERYONE keeps telling me that I'm acting, or-or, pretending. But I am just doing my best. And it still isn't enough. It will never be enough."

He closes his eyes, a tear slips down his cheek,

"When I was your age, I was scared, and I was defenceless, and I was only brave when my friends stood by my side, and I was reckless, and I just did, and didn't think. And I was loosing so much, to everyone and everything, and I kept on trying my best and messing up. But what I realised is that they still love you, even when you mess up."

I laugh, high,

"Are you saying I've messed up? That I'm a mess? That my best isn't good enough for you?"

He stares at me, and smiles, broken, voice a murmur,

"You just don't get it James. I love you, even when you are a mess."

We are silent. We stare at each other. He opens his arms, his eyes glisten. I see regret. Love. Sadness. A deep anger. A broken man. A strong man. Maybe just an ordinary man that everyone expects to be extraordinary. I step into his embrace. He wraps his arms around me. I close my eyes. The tears are unfamiliar, strange. I can feel a warm feeling in my heart. It is new. It is weird. We stand like that. Holding onto each other for a while. We do not have to say anything. No words. Nothing. It is not needed. He closes his eyes. And I close mine. And the portraits watch on. There is a silence that I can rest in. There is a peace I could grow used to. There is a joy I want to learn. There is a new feeling that I want to hold onto. We do not say anything. Actions speak in volume. Both of our shoulders are wet. We don't acknowledge it. We don't need to.

I pull away. I sit against the wall and he sits beside me, groaning as he skooshes down, I let out a soft chuckle, he sends me a soft grin. We are silent. Eventually he speaks. Voice soft,

"Tell me about her."

I glance at him, eyes wide, I close them and smile,

"You will never meet someone so sweet or loving. Or good. She, she does this cute thing when she is trying hard to focus, she scrunches up her nose, and crosses her eyes."

He watches me, eyes full of wonder. I go on, voice broken,

"I've been a real douche to her. I mean I've been a real douche to a lot of people, but her, she doesn't deserve it."

I smile, sad, eyes distant,

"She always sees the good in people. She's- she's,"

I stop. An orphan. But I don't say it. It doesn't seem fair to tell someone else's secrets. I shake my head,

"She is brilliant, and brave, and strong when I am weak,"

I smile softly,

"One time I couldn't sleep so I spent the night, and-"

Dad splutters, coughing several times, I let out a laugh, hugging my sides, eyes shining, I shake my head at his flustered state, he clears his throat, voice fatherly,

"Do we need to have, you know, the talk?"

I shake my head, letting out another chuckle, and sniff, my eyes twinkle,

"No, she isn't like that. At all."

He gives me a weird look and I duck my head, we are silent for a moment. Eventually he speaks up,

"Be good to her James."

I nod my head

"I will."

He nods his head. We are silent. It isn't awkward. It's a little sad. A little happy. A little broken. A little tired. A lot worth it. But it doesn't disappear. Betrayal. Messing up. It doesn't go away. It never will. And though we are side by side it doesn't mean we are one in the same. And just because he hugged me doesn't mean I forgive him. Because if I don't blame him then I must blame me. Then it is my fault. Then I am the bad person. I can hear Hermione's words,

"Why do you have all that self-hatred?"

I close my eyes. And lean my head back. We stayed like that for fifteen minutes or so. And then mom came in and smiled wide. Eventually, slowly, I made my way to the hospital wing. I stood there and I watched her. And I wondered what horrors she has seen, what pain she has felt. If she will ever be the same. If she will love me. The door was heavy as it closed behind me.

~Rose's POV~

We never remember a solid thing. Our mind. It remembers what it wants to. Things that are unimportant. Things that won't save you.

The moon blinked out. There was a fog, dark in the sky, it hung to my skin, and clung to my robes. My robes were rags, ripped and bloody. My fingers dripped red. My lips were stained the dark colour.

There were flames lapping at that sky. I burned him alive. And he laughed. He thought it was funny. It wasn't supposed to be funny. There were bodies. Piled high. Death Eaters he killed. He killed them every time I spoke. For each word was a life. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

My hands are shaking. I am not breathing right. The train tracks are cold. Cold like ice. There are chains wrapped around skin, biting me. The wind is soft in my hair. It plays with the strands. I don't scream. I look up. At him. His eyes. They are green. They are my eyes. It is not an illusion. He tilts his head to the side. He sends a wave to the death eaters behind him.

His voice echoes in the silence.

"Leave."

No one moves. He closes his eyes. Teeth biting flesh. He stands, turning to face them. His wand flicks. One. Two. Three. They are thrown in the air, he runs his tongue over his teeth. He looks to the forgotten. They do not flinch. Who is in charge? Him or them? I can't tell. I don't know.

He repeats himself. Voice deadly.

"Leave."

A blink. Smoke flies around them as they disappear. The forgotten do not move. They stand on his right and his left. Hands locked behind their backs, heads tilted to the side. Eyes bored. They have not spoken once. He turns back to me.

He hops down, feet hitting the gravel. Boom.

A tear slips down my cheek. His robes slip over my skin as he stands over me. Eyes curious. He laughs high, voice sing song,

"So weak. So disgustingly weak. And yet they told me you are important."

He giggles, droplets of blood spilling down his face, his eyes give away nothing. No emotion. No concern. No interest. He leans over me, hand grabbing onto my chin, fingernails drawing blood. I wince. Eyes wide. My lips tremble. The tears are hot. He grins,

"That's right mudblood. Fear me. Flinch when I speak. Wince when I touch. Show me just how stupidly human you are."

I shake. My voice soft,

"Let me go."

He gives me a dumbfounded look and then hits me harsh across the face. His bones. His bones aren't normal. I can see stars. I can't see him. But I can feel him. His breath is hot on my cheek. His lips are cold on my skin. His voice is like a deadly lullaby,

"Brace yourself Rose. It's going to hurt. You can't let it kill you."

I open my eyes, his eyes meet mine, human, soft, caring. I stare at him, eyebrows drawn together, his voice is a whisper,

"I'll help you get out of here. I'll save you. Would you like that?"

I nod soft, eyebrows scrunched together, my hand reaching for his. Our fingers interlace. He goes, as if to take of the chains. And then lets out a long giggle. Face splitting in two. Teeth gleaming black in the darkness.

"Fool."

He hits me hard, I recoil, his eyes stare into mine, centimetres apart,

"Like I would save a coward like you. Like someone as great as me would even be doing something like this."

The Forgotten speak up, voices deadly,

"Careful boy."

His jaw ticks. They go on, footsteps soft as they land crouched beside me, eyes on him, his eyes on me. They go on. Voices raw. Ruthless. As if talking to a dog.

"The Potter boy won't want her if her face is ruined."

He raises his fist, slamming it down at me, they catch it, turning his arm out of his socket. He doesn't cry out. His teeth grind together. His eyes narrow. Just a fraction of an inch. Blood gushes hot, and boiling over me, I let out a scream. His blood is not red though. It is black, like ink. He sighs. Eyes gleaming in the night,

"BORING!"

He turns on them, his own hand grabbing onto his arm and ripping it off, veins fall to the ground, the white bone is shown, little bits of flesh dribble onto the ground, I can see an artery hanging in the air, I feel bile rise in my throat. He drops the arm to the ground. And the Forgotten leap at it, grabbing onto it and eating it. Like creatures. Like animals. Like dogs.

Again I am confused. Who is the one on top? Who rules who? Someone has to be more powerful than the other. He growls at them, lips curled back,

"Disgusting animals. No better than mudbloods."

They stop eating. Eyes finding his. He arches a brow, arms outspread,

"What? Gonna kill me?"

They drop his arm to the ground. Just a bone, the veins still attached at the wrist. The fingernails gnawed off. He grins, and then his eyes shift back to me. He gives me a long look. Voice soft,

"No wonder Potter likes you so much, you are pretty Rose. Such a pretty thing."

I shake, he sighs. Glancing at his other wrist. The remaining wrist.

"We have ten minutes. Let's go."

The Forgotten look at each other and then back at him. He rolls his eyes, taking out his wand, he raises it, eyes digging into me. Voice soft.

"Oh right. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Arcturus BlackThorne. It's a pleasure to meet you."

His eyes give away no emotion. His voice is hard.

"I heard death can be painful. Brace yourself."

He raises his wand.

"Bye darling"

The Forgotten stand, each with a hand resting on his shoulder. They nod. He sheds a red tear. It trickles down his cheek. He gives me a slight nod, just a tilt of the head, his voice echoes in my mind,

"Obliviscatur"

A blink. I am alone. On the train tracks. There are tears on my cheeks. There is no arm. No nothing. No chains. I can feel a slight force around me. Weird, soft, cold. Then I see it. The light is white. The whistle of the train is ghostly. I am sitting up. Too late. Too soon. Too quick. All over.

One. The train races at me.

Two. Fred leaves the great hall, feet hitting the ground, running.

Three. James clinks his glass against Lola's.

Four. The Police officer stands in his office and files the report for arrest,

Five. The Court of Hearing in the Ministry of Magic is adjourned.

Six. The wheels hit me.

Seven. Alex changes into navy robes. Hand pausing on the bight mark on his hand. He stares at it. Eyes gleaming with tears. The Forgotten tilt their heads to the side, they move quickly, he raises both hands, admiring them in the glass. The wind outside flies by. He giggles soft. Voice a murmur.

"If the Weasley boy fails I'll kill him with these bare hands."

Eight. Fred has his wand in his hand. The world seems to be slowing down. He raises it. He cracks it down, the train stops.

Nine. My heart beat these nine counts well. But no heart can live through everything.

Ten. Fred is running at me. He checks for a pulse.

Times up. And what do you do when you die. Do you give up. Is death really than all encompassing? His face isn't wet. He doesn't cry. He does as they told him to. His hands shake. His fingers scrape at flesh. His voice is soft.

"Hang in there Rose. I'm almost done."

The minutes pass. He puts his wand away. He picks me up. And he stars running. The seconds are long.

I blink. Fred's face is in front of me. He is crying. He cradles me to his chest. His tears are hot. He lifts me up, his voice is shaking,

"Rose you need to keep breathing, understand? You need to keep breathing for me,"

I stare at him, he ducks his head, and then he is running, his feet hit the ground. Boom. He slips, the grass hits my back, I let out a scream, he pulls me towards him, his hands are red. I can't see. The stars are gone. I can't breathe, I can't. I can't. I.

His red hair is caught in the moonlight. It dances like flames. I close my eyes and grab onto his arm, my voice shakes, the tears are hot on skin,

"I can't remember."

I open my eyes, and stare at him, tears falling,

"There is something incredibly important that I am forgetting."

He shakes his head, his voice cracks,

"Shh. Rest. Stay with me Rose. Don't freak out. You're okay."

I scream. And I kick him, fingers digging into his flesh, tears hot on my cheeks,

"I forgot. Why can't I remember?"

He pulls me closer. His chest is warm. He runs fast. As soon as we get to the stairs of the castle he is screaming for help. He falls to his knees. Head bowed. The great hall bursts open. Students pour in. I can hear each footstep, it vibrates on the ground, it jars my bones, it hurts me. It is an earthquake. He screams at the top of his lungs, face breaking in two. He cries over me. Tears falling onto wounds, I can see a guilt in his green eyes. A guilt. A horrible, twisted guilt. I reach up a hand, my fingers aren't all there. I stare at my hand. Eyes wide. Tears falling. No. Everything. My future. My life. My future is gone. It will never be the same.

The blood soaks into his clothes. My bones aren't connected. Something is horribly wrong. He is shaking. I can see faces. Thousands of them. And Teddy is running towards me, he is screaming things. I can't hear him. I can't hear anything. I stare up at the roof and I see it. I am on a hill. The wind runs through my hair. There are two people in front of me. Veronica Weasley to my right. And James Potter to my left.

And the voice comes. A voice. A voice that now has a face. Eyes. Nose. Lips. All clouded in grey. All lost to my sight. A high laugh. It says,

"A life for a life."

And there is a wand in my hand. And I have to choose. Who dies. Who is next. The earth trembles beneath my feet. Someone is coming. Coming to kill me. They all kneel. Darkness itself. Me. The voice rings,

"Choose."

I shake my head, eyes wide,

"I can't remember."

The voice laughs,

"That doesn't matter. You have to choose. Whether you want to or not."

A hand on my shoulder,

"Who lives and who dies."

The wand raises. The green light cannot flash. My voice is soft.

"I can't."

The lips are cold against my ear. The teeth are fangs. The wind is ice. Their eyes are lifeless.

"Do you want to live Rose?"

I shake my head, the tears are bitter,

"Yes."

A hand snaking up my side, it runs over my fingers, it wraps around the wand. Steadied.

"Then choose."

I blink my eyes open, I can see faces swimming in my vision. V is there. She grabs onto me, she is screaming for help, her eyes are wide, she is sobbing into my chest. Hand gripping mine. They blink shut.

"How do I choose?"

A laugh. I've heard that laugh before. Where? Why can't I remember? Why can't I know? Why does everywhere hurt so much?

The wand is snapped in two. The earth shakes. He is wearing blue robes. They billow on the ground. They look like black ink, swelling with the wind and drying with the tide. A finger under my chin. Skin cold.

"You kill them Rose."

His eyes are green. My eyes. His eyes are my eyes. I open my eyes. I can see V, Teddy, Fred, Scorpius, Roxy, Lucy. I can see someone else too. He stands directly above me, his eyes are mine, he blinks, and looks to Fred, giving him a small nod. My hand reaches for him. My fingers wrap around his ankle. He looks down at me. An eyebrow arched. My voice shakes,

"I can't remember."

He grins, wide, and tares his ankle from me, my fingers claw into his skin, he is walking away, he is getting away, I try to crawl, eyes wide, I let out a scream, hand reaching for him.

The ground is warm. No. It's a bed. Under my shoulders. Soft. There are doctors above me. And golden eyes. James is here. He is yelling, he is crying. He never cries. Why is he crying? I'm alright James. I don't feel any pain. It is strange. Every bone is broken. The blood pours. I cannot feel my legs. I cannot see the lights. My fingernails are broken. My will shattered. My sanity a fragment I have lost contact with. But there is no pain. I feel nothing. I want to tell him that it'll be okay. That he shouldn't be crying. Not over me. Not over me. Not this time.

My eyes bat closed, he turns to me. And I look up. There is no face. No. There is a face. My face. My face on the man before me. He leans forward. And I wish I could see him. I wish I knew him. I feel like I know him. I swear I do. Don't I? Haven't we met? And then he turns to dust like the wind. And before me is Veronica and James. And they are crying. And their backs are turned. And they will not turn around. And I am all alone in the darkness. And why?

I can see too little. Nothing makes sense. The truth is it at my fingertips, but my fingertips are smashed in. Stained by the grease of train tracks. And then I hear it. Madame Pomphrey's voice from far away,

"It looks like she tried to commit suicide. Poor thing."

And I want to yell no. But I don't know. I can only remember the train. My bag on the floor. And the police officer. Saying I would go to jail. That I should plead guilty. That my life is ruined. And there is too much time in-between that I forget. Too much. I squeeze my eyes shut,

The wand is in my hand. The voice echoes.

"Choose Rose."

I am shaking my head. The tears stain the ground like rain. It is thundering. The thunder rages. I am falling in between time and space. I am trembling.

"I can't."

A growl,

"You must. Or they all die. Everyone. Just a snap of my fingers."

The grass is wet under my bare feet. I wonder where my shoes went. The cliff is jagged. The wand is cold. The wind is hot. I close my eyes.

"I am not to blame for her death. I didn't kill her."

A cackle high in the air,

"You mean Dom? Does that mean that you are choosing Veronica again? Over James? Over him?"

My eyes open, Veronica is on one side, holding my hand, and James is on the other, head buried in my fingers. Face wet. Albus is trying to pull him off, Hermione is there. Eyes flying over me, wand moving,

I open my mouth. Voice soft.

"I can't remember. I can't."

The eyes in the room are all on me. Harry Potter is there. Hermione. Fred. My friends. James' friends. I stare at them, and shake my head,

"I forgot something important. Something that can change everything. Why can't I remember?"

They are saying something, all at once. They are so loud. I let out a scream at the top of my lungs.

The cliff hangs, there are two people. Two people before me. V is on my right. James is on my left. They stand. Defenceless. The wand is in my hand, his face is my face. So many factors. Too much to lose. Too little time. Too late. Too much. A whisper,

"Choose."

The wand raises. I close my eyes. The green light flashes. One body hits the floor. I don't open my eyes. I can't. I won't.

My ears buzz. I can see a flash of green light. Thomas hits the floor. The wand is in my hand. The wand is in my hand and I am killing him. I can see the wand hitting the ground, bouncing across pavement. I can feel the wind in my hair. I can see the tracks. The train whistle blares. My back hits the ground. The train tracks are beneath me. I want to die. I need to die. Its important. The train speeds up, I close my eyes, a scream, I've changed my mind. My face is wet with tears, I am scrambling off of the tracks, my robes are caught on a nail, I am pulling at it. The train is coming. Fast and faster. Boom.

One. My robes tare, I through my body towards safety, my head escapes the damage.

Two. The train hits me, my body rolls underneath the tracks, the blood sprays.

Three. I am screaming, tears falling.

Four. I can't remember.

Five. I can't see the moon. But I see the stars, the stars are vast. Those stars are beautiful. They glow for me, they shine for me, they were made for me. I can see my constellation. I feel a tear fall. James. Veronica. Why them? Why not someone else? Fred is there, his hands are wrapped around me. He is doing something, but the stars are so pretty. I can't see. I can't see anything but stars. Beautiful stars. He is picking me up. My head lolls back. Thomas is lying there. Thomas is dead. I know it. His eyes are open wide. I start to kick and scream. I am scared. I don't know who is carrying me. All I can see is green eyes. Sickly green eyes. Glowing down at me. I can feel tears on my cheeks, but its blood, blood pouring from his mouth.

I open my eyes. James is on the floor. I can't see him. I can feel V's hand on mine. She is saying something. I shake my head.

"I can't hear you. Why can't I hear you? What's wrong with me?"

The darkness bats at my eyes. And then it comes. My heartbeat starts. It wasn't beating before. That's what was wrong. So was I dead? Boom. The blood rushes, and then the pain comes, crippling and I scream, tears falling down my cheeks, and I can feel too much. The pain is everywhere. It is killing me. And I can hear voices. They are loud. I can see clearly. I can feel James' fingers brushing mine. They are pulling him back.

I feel my eyes close and rest my head back. It's not over yet Rose. You get another chance. Keep breathing for me. I can feel James let go. He is hitting his father. Fists raised. He is screaming. It is loud. V covers my eyes; her hands are real. She presses her lips to my cheek. Leaning closer and she whispers it in my ear.

"Hey you. I'm right her, m'kay? Focus on me, mh? You won't leave me here all alone will you? I'd miss you so much,"

I feel a tear run down my cheek. And she pats my hair, giving me a big smile. Her voice calms me. It makes the pain less there.

"You gave me a big scare for a second there Thorne."

She blows out her cheeks, and rubs at her eyes, leaning her forehead against mine,

"Breathe with me. Mhm? You better breathe, you better not stop breathing."

I nod my head, she nods with me, her lips tremble. She shakes her head. Her tears fall onto my cheeks,

"You must be hurting so much. I should have been there for you. More."

I shake my head, I can't move my hands, but my lips move, soft,

"V, I think, I think, I just, I think I,"

She stares at me, searching my eyes,

"You what?"

I sniffle, a whimper slipping from my lips,

"I think I forgot something I shouldn't have forgotten."

She takes my hand in hers and I look down and scream. I am not whole. I am broken. Bones fractured and crushed. Veins out of place. Organs punctured. And wizards and witches hover over me, around twenty of them. And they are focused, eyes never leaving their work, wands ready, potions pouring. And I let out another scream, high in the air. And the pain tares through me like a hurricane. And I can hear their voices.

"Keep her conscience."

"Don't let her freak out."

"Steady her breathing."

"She can't go into shock."

"Her pulse is too fast."

"She's passing out."

"Work faster."

I can't move. Why can't I move? I stare at V, my eyes are wide, and it falls. A red tear down my cheek. And she stares at it. Her eyes wide. And James stops hitting Harry. He turns. And the forgotten in my head wonder what they are staring at, jumping into Harry's eyes and peering through them at me. And they are scared. Because a red tear means death. I close my eyes.

The shadow is tall. Tall and long. His hand is extended to me.

"Come child."

I shake my head. The shadows are glaring at me. He sighs,

"You are here too early. You weren't supposed to visit me today so I let you go. But you are back. It is confusing."

I tilt my head to the side, voice hoarse,

"Who are you?"

He raises an eyebrow,

"Who do you want me to be?"

I lower my eyes,

"My friend."

The face changes to Doms.

"This friend is the only friend of yours I have."

I reach out, my hand slips through him, he shakes his head,

"I'm not real. I'm all in your head Rose."

I stare up at him.

"Am I going insane?"

He arches a brow,

"Yes."

I look down,

"The Forgotten, they are killing me."

He shakes his head,

"No."

I step closer,

"Yes. They are. They want me dead."

He licks his lips,

"Then why aren't you dead? You've met them twice."

I shake my head,

"You're wrong. I've only met them once."

He grins,

"Whatever you say. But we both know you don't believe that."

I turn around and look at the room. It is a library. With thousands of books, huge books all written in my handwriting.

I turn to him,

"What is this place?"

He looks around,

"The future."

I grab one of the books and open it. Gazing down at the pages. The writing is scrawled. Tear stains echo the pages.

"Why would I write all of this?"

He touches his index finger to his temple,

"To remember. To not forget."

I shake my head.

"You aren't making any sense."

He nods. Sitting down. And peering up at me.

"I suppose it wouldn't make sense to you."

I drop the book. It hits the ground with an echo.

"You are imaginary."

A nod.

"Yes."

I shake my head,

"You are supposed to be death."

He arches a tall brow,

"I am whatever you make me as."

I stare at him.

"Does that mean I want to die?"

He nods his head.

"Yes."

I look down and then back up,

"Why would I want to die?"

He shrugs his shoulders,

"You are giving up. Something is making you weak."

I sit on the ground. Cross legged.

"It is happening again. The nightmare. Except instead of Dom. Its James. James and V."

The darkness sits forward,

"And someone else. Someone you can't see."

I look up.

"Yes."

Somewhere far off James drops to his knees and begins the spell. Voice shaking.

The darkness goes on,

"Who are you going to choose? V or James?"

I stare into the darkness. And lower my eyes.

"I can't."

A whisper,

"You have to."

I open my eyes. Hesitate. And my voice shakes.

"V."

The darkness swirls, face forming James'. It tilts its head to the side, eyes shining, I can see a hurt on his face,

"You would let James die. When you love James."

I back away, hands wrapping around my head,

"GET OUT"

The darkness surrounds me, I scream

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD"

The darkness disappears and then swells in front of me. Its face flashes and changes with each heartbeat, I can see millions of faces, I close my eyes, useless, my eyes are already closed. Its all make believe Rose. Its all fake.

My breath shakes. I can't feel my heartbeat. My voice trembles,

"How long have I been dead?"

The shadow tilts his head to the side,

"Forever."

I shake my head, tears forming a puddle around me, and the puddle is drowning me,

"Nothing lasts that long."

Death steps closer, eyes narrowed,

"I do."

I shake my head.

"No you don't."

A soft laugh. I close my eyes.

"You aren't real. You are just another part of me."

Death tilts its head to the side,

"Death is a part of everyone."

I close my eyes,

"Not me."

Death leans back,

"James will die. And V will live."

I slam my fist into the ground and yell at it,

"No. I am choosing V because I have loved her for years. And James I have only loved for months. You cannot compare them. They are different. They are important but different."

A long sigh,

"Are you God Rose?"

I shake my head,

"No."

It is in my face, its fingers wrapped around my throat crushing my air,

"Then why are you playing with lives like a god?"

I shake my head,

"I did not choose this."

Its fingers won't let me breathe, I scream, it whispers,

"How do you know that?"

I blink. It's a mirror. The reflection is me. I stare at myself. IT whispers,

"Abandoned. Forgotten. Dead."

I shake my head. The reflection cries a single red tear.

"I cannot save your life twice. A life for a life Rose. Someone else has to die for you to live. Do you really want to live that badly?"

I raise a hand to the reflection. It changes. I am sitting at a long table, I am at the head of the table. I am the Minister of Magic. I can feel the hunger, the greed. The want. It kills me. I let out a sob. And then I wipe away the tear, the single red tear erases itself. Falling backwards. I don't blink. I can't hesitate. I won't hesitate. If I die now I will never get to live. Never get to take the opportunities that come. If I let go, then there is no going back, no future. No point. V won't die. James won't die. I won't let them. Death may have its policies but I have mine. I stop crying. I raise my chin. My voice echoes. I let out a soft whisper, one word, three letters.

"Yes."


	26. Ignorance brings chaos not knowledge

Chapter 26- Ignorance brings chaos not knowledge

~Rose POV~

The sun is warm. It touches my skin. The breeze murmurs over flesh. Exposed. Vulgarly. Utterly. His hand is extended, his voice is non-existent, his lips move, he asks,

"Will you dance with me?"

I am smiling. My fingers find his. They curve around each other. He pulls me close. My heart flutters. He is my angel. My hero. But I do not need a hero. Why would I need a hero? If I am so very alive? Our lips brush on petals of daises in the field. We giggle at something we said, my hair flies behind me, each strand catching the brilliance of that sun.

He is spinning me, his hand on my wrist, our fingers entangled. My chin tilts back, my back hits his chest. The tipping point. We fall. I can see the sun high above, it shines golden, I tilt my head to the side, the laughter is tears in disguise. The sun is just the painting of the ceiling. There is no sun. My back hits the ground. My fingers are wet. I can see colors. Reflect. I lean back into him, I laugh at something he says, his hand whispers over my skin, it curves around my neck. I trust him. I love him. He won't hurt me. The daises are soft on my arms, each petal tickles me. I giggle, I can feel my lips turn up. And then. And then.

I see his eyes. They are green. My green. Harry's green. His green. And the sun is changing color and everything is green. I pick up my hand, the green slips over each finger tip, it dips and curves over translucent skin. I arch a brow, lip brought between white teeth. My eyes wide.

And then I hear it. The sea. The sea roars far, far beneath us. I look down. The ground is cracked and there the waves froth and roar about. Screaming my name. I can see train tracks. I can see my back hitting dirt floor. I can see flames. I can see fingers. I can see a wand in my hand. A blink. The daises wilt. A voice. My voice. A murmur.

"Its all in your head Rose."

The ground tips and I am standing upside down, I walk on the sky, feet stepping into soft clouds, eyes wide. A voice whimpers to life,

"Its all in my head."

I see the forgotten. The wand is in my hand. My voice shakes. I stare. A murmur,

"It's not real"

I raise the wand, a blink, I am turning, I can see him. It's a painting. Him. Me. The sky. The daises. His eyes. I can burn it. The paint will turn hot under gasoline. His eyes are green, he grins at me, his teeth are white. A blink. Red. Tongue black. I raise it a tear slipping down my cheek,

"You're not real."

He cocks his head to the side voice a murmur,

"Are you going to kill me Rose?"

I shake my head, voice a whisper,

"No. You don't exist."

His smile drops. I stare at him.

"I don't have to choose anyone."

He laughs high, head thrown back, the blood pours from his lips, it stains the yellow daises red. I blink back tears. His voice yells,

"You'd be a murderer Rose."

I don't wipe them away. My hands shake,

"No. Your wrong. Your just another part of me. You are in my head and I am telling you to get out."

He lifts his hand, eyes blinking green, he extends his palm up, his voice amused,

"If I am a part of you, how can you get rid of me?"

The wand raises. The world turns. Softly spinning by. We are silent for a long time. The wand is moving, the wind picks up, the daises grow higher and higher, climbing around my legs, vines turning to thorns, they prick me, the wand is turning in the air, I do not say the spell. I know the spell. My mind thinks it. Green light flashes. He has tears in his eyes. His voice is an echo as he turns to dust, fingers reaching for me, out for me, needing me. He whispers it,

"I love you."

I close my eyes. The daises become soft, the petals drop to the ground, the bees buzz. The garden is beautiful. James is there. The blue dress is like satin. My voice is just a whisper,

"You don't know me enough to love me."

The fingers break into a thousand fragments of dust. Floating to the ground. I feel a tear slip down my cheek. James turns. He looks at me, his lashes are long. The dust flies around us, the daises are in full bloom. He looks up. His eyes are green. I stare at him. Just like his green. The villains green. The man I just killed, whose eyes were mine. He extends his hand. The wand is in my hand. The sun is golden. It shines beautifully. It repeats.

The sun is warm. It touches my skin. The breeze murmurs over flesh. Exposed. Vulgarly. Utterly. His hand is extended. His voice is non-existent. His lips move. He said. He says. The wand hits the floor. Boom.

"Dance with me."

I remember. I remember memories that never happened. And I can see too little. I am scared. My heart is pounding. The stars, they were yellow and white. They glowed. They were the last thing I saw. The last thing I remember seeing. I remember giving up. I stopped screaming.

I want to live. I have so much to do. So much I haven't done. If I just got the chance. Just the opportunity, I would take it. I would take it and never let it go. The brain works in mysterious ways, I saw flames, but there was no smoke. I saw burned flesh, but there was only me. I felt the wand in my hand, but the wand was on the floor. I felt the fingers bite my heart, I felt death hit me over the head.

It hurt. There is a pain worse than death. It is the pain of losing. You lose friends. You lose family. You lose warriors. You lose battles. You lose the war. You lose yourself. You lose reality. You lose hope. You lose love.

I could see her. Her hair was white, her hand was outstretched, she beckoned me. She asked me to come. But I didn't come. I couldn't move. The train's lights were bright. I could see her smile in those lights. I faltered. I didn't scramble away. I couldn't. I wouldn't. She was so beautiful. I reached for her too. I was scared. I was so afraid. Of losing. I have lost so much. So what is the point of going on? I have lost my mind. I have lost my friend. I have lost my family. I never had a family to lose.

Death happens either way. You die today, or in a year, a week, four days, a decade, a 100 years. But the outcome is always the same. You die. And you don't wake up. But dying in four days means I have to suffer four more days. I have to make it four more days. I don't think. I didn't think I could make it another 24 hours. Another 48 hours. The edge was beckoning. I spread my arms wide. And I closed my eyes. There was a release. A moment of absolute and utter complete freedom. Suspended between life and death. No boundaries. No dreams. No responsibilities. No purpose. No will. Wand dropping from my hand, it hit the floor. Boom. It rolled and hit against his corpse. The corpse of the person I had killed. I leaned forward. Who are you Rose? What kind of bad person are you? What kind of murderer could you be?

My back hits the train tracks. The moon was big. The stars were shining. Shining for me. I can feel a single tear slip down my cheek.

Just seconds before you die your body switches to panic mode. You think of all the things you will get to do. The things that you will never get to understand. Your back hits the tracks and then you are screaming. And you are worried it'll hurt. The pain. The death. And you start to think of the funeral. Your funeral. Everyone wearing black. And they would be crying for you. YOU. How can you put them through that? Your friends? Your world? You are scrambling, fingers clawing. Too late. Too fast. The stars are blurred. The sky is so very very dark. Your hands are shaking. The fabric of your robes is caught on a loose nail. Your finger tips are bloody as you tare at it. The whistle is haunting. You look up. Its coming. Fast. You can see your hand in Dom's. You can hear her laughter, you can see her tears drowning her. She needs you. You pause. Your heart is pounding. There is a tear on your cheek. There is a will broken. There is a possibility. You can't remember what your doing here. But you want to love her. All your fault. You blame yourself because if you blame someone else you are just a coward. She needs you Rose. She loved you Rose. She's dead Rose.

Your fingers fall to your sides. I blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. You are weighing your life. You are not thinking straight. A flash. The panic is back. I rip the cloth in two, I scramble towards the side. Its too fast. I'm too slow. It hits. I tumble. My hair dances in the darkness. I can see the stars. Thirteen seconds. Thirteen slow seconds under wheel, burning iron, hot metal, smoke and engine. 13 seconds doesn't sound like a lot. But it was the longest 13 seconds of my life. I could see so much. So very much. I could see the stars, I could see a grave for Molly and Arthur Weasley. I could see dreams, and corpses. A blink.

Everything is white. I am spinning, my hair is longer. There are rose petals, white, they fly in the air behind me. I can hear everyone clapping. It's my wedding day. I am whispering words, soft, entangled words in dreams. There is a little girl tugging at my skirt, her mouth is saying a word, over and over again,

"Mommy,"

"Mommy,"

I am on a horse. My hands are spread to the sky, the cliffs are beautiful, I am taking his hand in mine, I am jumping. His golden eyes catch the light. I can see V dressed in black standing in front of the grave. I look at the grave. There is a letter. A letter at the beginning of the name. H. I am sobbing. I can see millions of people marching, I am leading them, fist raised to the sky, they are following me. ME. I am on a dragon, the world is exploding, its wings carry me, fly me higher and higher. ESCAPE. Freedom. I can see Frank. He doesn't have any eyes. Just black holes. He is reaching for me. Fred. Fred is falling through the air. His back hits the grass. Too high. Too long. All too fast.

Why?

What use is me dying now have?

Am I that useless?

What sin have I done to deserve this?

Have I lived?

Have I loved?

Did I have a chance that I ever wasted?

Didn't I take every opportunity to climb the ladder?

What mistake did I make that led me here?

Haven't I used every resource?

What makes me so unworthy of living that I die like this?

Like this?

It hurt. So much. I cannot remember what kind of hell it was. Or what kind of pain can cripple you when you are not standing. There was a lot to think about lying there. I thought about V. Her smile. Her hands. Her hair. Her heartbeat. I thought of Roxy. Her eyes. Her brain. Her bravery. I thought of Lucy. Her light. Her innocence. Her heart. I thought of Dom. Her ash. Her funeral. Her blood. I thought of Scorpius. His green. His love. His teeth. His white. His silver. His colors.

I thought of James. His gold. His freedom. His heart. His words. I thought this is fate isn't it? This is me being forgotten. Erased. And it's what happens every time. I thought of my parents. I thought of faces blurred. And hands obscured. And they let me go. Their little, sad, lonely girl. Before I could even prove to them that I was good enough. That I could be enough. But nothing is enough. Everyone is greedy and wants more and more. And we are animals of desire. Desire for power.

Fred was there. I could see his mouth moving. He was crying. His tears looked red. Or maybe all I could see was red. RED. CRIMSON. DARK. SEEPING. KILLING. The hallway up to the hospital wing. The doctors apparating around me. The wind flying, the room was misty. I remember V's face. She didn't scream. She didn't yell. She just grabbed onto my hand and whisper three words. Face brave. So very brave. Her voice was just a murmur. But I could hear it. I couldn't hear anything else. But I could hear her. Just a whisper,

"I love you."

It was all I needed. It was all you need. She needed me. Her eyes told me she wouldn't be able to survive this. Not this.

There are no doctors anymore. The room is empty. My eyes are closed. I can't seem to open them. I can feel a hand on mine. I can't move my hand. I can't move anything. The voice is just a whisper. The skin is cold. Like ice. My ears perk up. A voice I know. Scorp's voice. His breath tickles my cheek. His words are like silence. They barely make a sound. Words are words. But words have power. They make your heart pound. And your eyes wet. His words were soft. Like a pillow, or your favorite stuffed animal. Just a murmur,

"I never thanked you. For being there for me, when I told you. Understanding me. Loving me. You are a really good person Thorne."

I can feel my lips try to turn up. Nothing is moving. Why is nothing moving?

Scorpius was there. His voice. And we were young again. Lying in the Malfoy Manners gardens. The night was dark. The stars were bright. The sent of fresh cut grass floated around us, the soft aroma of blueberry pie wafted in the slight breeze. The night breeze was fresh. Dancing across our skin, brushing over our eyelashes.

The stars were bright that night, the big dipper, Sirius, the brightest star. I watched those stars with awe, jaw loose. Our bellies were full of turkey. His mom had cooked. Whenever she cooked I felt my heart hurt, whenever she yelled, "Go wash your hands, dinners almost ready," I could feel the swallowing, the encompassing desire to hug her. To hold the idea of her close. A mother. A loved one. A friend. I washed my hands twice, just so I could tell her. Just so her eyes would shine with a brilliance, and she would place a hand on my shoulder and devote just 13 seconds to making me know just how proud that made her. Her words were always soft, "You did perfect Rose."

I can here old waltz music playing in the background. Draco's fingers dance across piano keys. He doesn't attend dinner whenever I visit, which, by the way is very rare. I do not come to their house often. Or ever. And when I do Draco eats in his study. Scorp told me to call him Mr. Malfoy but in my head he isn't all that great. Scorp says Draco wants him to do extra well in school. I can't imagine why Draco wouldn't just love Scorp for how incredible he is without trying extra hard. But people are complicated. The piano was soft. Claire de Lune, the keys hit, the tune drifted and swelled with emotion, pride, desire, need, and then softer, the right hand comes in, each note played with a fondness of forgiveness, love, respect. Music is meant to be played for no one. Music is intimate. I remember lying on the grass with leaves stuck in my hair and my muggle attire getting damp and muddy I thought how Draco should not play when I am here. Because it gives me a false sense of adoration, of being special. And how if Draco really doesn't like me that much, he should not confuse me with his piano.

Our hands were intertwined, our hair mixed. One. One in the same. Back then his hair was long, I would braid it when he fell asleep and then he would chase me around the fountains, screaming at me. He treasured his hair, the long silver locks held quite an unusual color, sometimes I would just sit and stare at each strand, the way the blonde floats into grey depending on the storminess of his eyes. And then he would give me a quizzical look and I would duck my head. Curiosity. I was curious of everything when I was young. Curious but afraid to offend. So guarded. But interested. Confused. Lost. Once I tugged Scorp's hair until he charged after me. I remember giggling until I was wheezing on the dirt floor.

The memory has a certain odd beauty. Like a photograph you can't forget but almost wish it never had been taken. The piano completed the soft intimate atmosphere of friendship. Trust. The swell of the notes, the rise of each melody, playing and satisfying the other was unique. The clink of dishes being washed in the kitchen. The breeze. Dessert almost ready. Us, lying there, eyes closed. We were both silent for quite some time. And then he spoke. His voice was soft. Soft like the falling of a leaf in autumn, he whispered it,

"What do you think of the world?"

I remember giggling, an eye peeking open.

"It's a lovely place isn't it?"

I remember him shaking his head. His voice a murmur, his eyes closed tight,

"No. I don't think so. I think it's a hateful place. And I fear it."

I remember turning to my side, eyes scared, hand finding his,

"What's that mean?"

A pause. We were silent. His voice was a whisper when he spoke again.

"I think."

I turned on my side, eyes searching his. Centimeters apart.

"Hmm?"

His eyes were crying. His hands were shaking. His lips trembled. He mumbled it.

"I think I like guys."

I remember staring at him. Eyes confused. Heart beating fast.

"So… You… You don't like… me?"

He smiled wide. His hand finding mine, his little hand wiping away a big crocodile tear. His fingers shaking,

"I love you."

I remember my eyes searching his. He didn't look away. I bit my lip, voice quavering,

"One day, far away we'll get married right? Me and you Scorp?"

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper, shaking his head just ever so slightly, eyes sad,

"No silly."

I remember shaking my head, eyes wide, eyebrows scrunched together,

"I don't understand?"

He pulled me closer, my head resting on his skinny arm, his hands played with my hair. His voice a murmur.

"I love you but I can't love you like you want me to."

I remember staring at him. My voice shaking,

"Sorry. I shouldn't be making this about me. Merlin I'm an idiot."

He grins,

"Don't be. You are too good for this world Rose."

I remember my eyes closing. We were silent for a while. Eventually I spoke. My voice was slightly confused,

"What's wrong with liking guys?"

He stared at me. Eyes wide. I sat up. Ducking my head. Eyes staring at him, voice a whisper,

"Then, I should tell you that I think. I think that I,"

He sat up too, taking my hands in his,

"You think what?"

I blushed, and ducked my head, eyes wide,

"I think I like guys too. Is that okay?"

I remember his huge smile. Never once. Never once after that day did I see that smile. That smile split his face in two. A single warm tear slipped down his cheek.

I gave him a curious look,

"Why aren't you more surprised? I mean, I could have liked girls- is there, something wrong with liking guys? I mean, I don't particularly understand-"

A rush of emotion blazed in his eyes. He grabbed me and pulled me close. Arms wrapping around me desperate. And I remember his hug, his arms crushing me to him, he was now crying lots of big crocodile tears. My voice was just a whisper,

"Is it okay, to like guys?"

He nodded, letting out a soft snuffle,

"Yes. It is okay."

I remember pulling away, eyes wide,

"Guys are pretty cool, right? Especially smart ones. Smart ones are super cool."

He grinned, ears red, his voice a whisper, a little hand wiping away a tear,

"I like watching the Slytherin Quidditch team."

I tilt my head to the side, voice a murmur,

"Why?"

He blushes crimson, voice a murmur,

"They take their shirts off at the end of practice."

My jaw dropped, my ears turning a tomato red,

"Every time?"

He nodded,

"Every time."

I hit his arm,

"You should invite me. Then we can drool together."

He giggled. We both flopped back on the ground. And looked up at the stars. The darkness around each glowing light seems vast. Man kind has only brushed its fingertips across the universe. There is more than just a whole world out there waiting for me. There is a whole universe. I want to touch those stars with my bare hands, and walk on their ground, and see their creatures and their life forms and their magic. I want to know every star's name, and why it was named that. I want to name a star myself. One day. So someone can read about me.

I could see in those stars V and I dancing. I feel my lips turn up.

After a while I whispered soft, my voice a murmur,

"I wonder if V likes guys too? Roxy sometimes says I look cute. Maybe she likes girls?"

I remember Scorp grabbing my hand quickly. Eyes scanning mine. Voice shaking,

"You can't tell anyone."

I stared at him,

"Tell anyone what?"

He swallowed hard,

"That I like guys."

I gave him a startled look,

"Why? Should I not tell anyone that I like guys? Is something wrong with liking guys? They are very likable."

He shook his head,

"Society… Doesn't really accept guys liking guys."

I stared at him. Tilting my head to the side, voice soft,

"Why not?"

He smiled soft, eyes brimming with those adorable tears, and he sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his hand, eyes looking away, he let out a soft sigh,

"I don't know. It's stupid, isn't it?"

I nodded, voice a murmur,

"It is. Who are they to tell you who to like?"

We are quiet for a while. When I do speak up, my voice shakes,

"But Scorp…. I'm a girl…"

I remember his eyes finding mine,

"Mhm, yeah? What?"

I remember my eyes narrowing.

"Does that mean, that you don't love me like that?"

He slowly nodded his head. I remember my heart falling. He looked down at our fingers intertwined, his voice soft,

"Are you okay with that?"

I remember looking up at him. And smiling big, voice a murmur,

"Why wouldn't I be?"

I blink. The scene fades. I can feel darkness pulling me under. Next its V. Her hand on mine. Her voice floating, suspended, beautiful, she is reading me a book. Out loud. I know the book. I wish I could smile. I wish I could tell her I am okay. That I am doing okay. But I'm not doing okay.

A blink, her voice carries through the room,

"Ignorance is bliss. A standard quote we all believe is over used. But I disagree. Ignorance is fear of the unknown. Ignorance is pride. Ignorance is bliss because no one can tell you you are wrong. Because you will never believe them. Ignorance is my theory of chaos. Chaos is a climb. Everyone wants to be on top. And when you place someone ignorant on top you are feeding chaos. For chaos comes from the people, starving for justice, starving for power, starving for wealth. Ignorance brings chaos not knowledge. When you know you understand, you interpret, you discuss, you decide. But within ignorance, only one person is ever right. And that is the one who has no knowledge. The one he breeds chaos like a disease through a nation. Power is accessed through knowledge. But if the system breaks. And ignorance accesses power, then what? Chaos is coming. Or perhaps chaos is already here."

She pauses and I hear the clink of a glass, the soft dribble of water down her throat, the hit of the glass on the wood to my right. The scratch of a chair on the tiled floor. She moves slightly forward. She rests her hand on mine. I can't move. A feel a soft sigh. A breath whispering from my lips. I hear the book snap close. She leans forward. A strand of hair tickles my cheek, her voice is a murmur,

"Rose? Can you hear me Rose? You okay in there? You're gonna be okay."

Her voice breaks and she brushes her lips softly against my cheek, she lets out a sniff. Her voice loud in the still,

"You'll be okay. I'm right here. I'm not gonna go anywhere."

Her voice is soft,

"I brought your new favorite philosophy book. Madame Pomphrey said something about light reading, but you were never classified as a light reader, were you?"

She lets out a soft laugh, and opens the book again, I hear a page turn, her voice is soft,

"Where was I? Right, Ignorance, chaos, knowledge."

She pauses and I can hear her thumb brush across the page. She is quiet for a moment and then she reads, her voice breaking,

"If the ignorant bring chaos does that just mean no one bothered to inform them? Can we really blame them for destroying the world if we, the knowledgeable just didn't fight hard enough? And what does fighting consist of? Guns, bullets? Wands, magic? Is violence the answer knowledge seeks or the ignorant provoke? So perhaps is not one or the other that triggers chaos. It is both. They feed it and they thrive in it. And they tip it. And then chaos rises."

She stops. I wrote that. It was one of my side notes on page 1,346. The top right corner. I drew a star next to it. I folded down the page a couple time. The spine of the book is broken from the amount of times I've over annualized every word. She sets the book down. Her hand wrapping around mine, her voice is still,

"You are so brilliant Rose. So grown up. You act so controlled, and ready for anything. And informed."

She lets out a soft sob,

"But you're a kid, like me, so why are you trying to solve the worlds greatest issues Rose? Why do you try so hard? Why can't be like the rest of us, and mess up sometimes, and fail. And get screwed over. And tired. Do you ever get tired? Or were you always tired, all the time and I just never noticed?"

She sighs, her hand is soft on mine. Her skin is warm, reassuring. I can hear her fingers comb through her hair. When she speaks again she sounds stronger, stronger for me, her voice is so very brave,

"I brought you hot coco yesterday. Madame Pomphrey almost killed me when I stuffed a marshmallow up your nose. She didn't get it. That whoever falls asleep first always gets a marshmallow up their nose. I tried really hard to explain that to her. But she didn't understand."

She lets out a watery laugh,

"She told me I should act more mature. Ironic right? Shouldn't we all be acting bloody less mature? How is no one concerned about how we are pulling through this easily? Or maybe that's just me. Who isn't pulling through easily but is making it look easy, for you, for Rox and Lucy. Maybe for James too."

She lets out a huff,

"Look at me Rose. I'm contradicting myself in the same sentence. What a mess I've become."

She leans her head on my hand.

I feel my thumb move, ever so slightly towards her. Just a brush of skin on skin. She lets out a gasp. Her hand leaving mine, I can hear her footsteps running, the chair pushing back, I can hear her heels hit the floor. I want to reach out and tell her to wait. To stay. Vaguely, somewhere far away I hear her call Madame Pomphrey and then darkness comes at me. Hard and I slip under.

The sun is soft on my cheeks. I can feel the light shining down on me. My heart is heavy. It's a memory this time. Beating but heavy. I can see V dancing before my eyes, we are together in Diagon Alley on our first summer, she buys me an ice cream sundae, at our favorite shop, Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlor. Its mint chocolate chip. It melts on my tongue. I remember closing my eyes and sitting back in my chair, hands reaching up to that sun and laughing. V laughed too.

Her voice sounded so different back then, higher, airier, less real, less trustworthy. I remember her voice, the summer heat, the wisp of the wind that caused my hair to turn in the air. I remember the feeling of the shade on my back. The soft drip of sweat on my cheek. The sweet murmur of flavor on my lapping tongue. The exploration of new things. The intensity of the heat. The sudden red that bursts on delicate skin. I can still feel the tan forming over those minutes. The wind whisking our hair over our faces, turning long strands and tangling them with the sweet sent of lavender and pixie dust.

I remember the feeling of the ice cream on my teeth, the cold shudder of goosebumps. How we argued over what the point of strawberry ice cream was if you could just get fresh strawberry's that tasted authentic instead of pulverized, processed, smashed and dunked in milk strawberries, with no flavor. The summer heat that day did not fade. I got a sun burn on my right shoulder. We stopped at a muggle shop in south London and grabbed sunscreen, the spraying kind. It tickled my skin. I remember laughing. Head thrown back. That ice cream was incredible. I ate four sundaes that day. V payed for each one. She never asked why I didn't have money on me. She never wondered if I would ever pay her back. She did not mind the way I would tentatively suggest something I wanted, eyes regretting, testing the waters to see if I was a burden to her. The whole point was that I was not a burden to her. Not once.

I can still see my eyes lighting up in the window of the ice cream store, running to the glass and pressing my nose against it, standing on my tip toes and biting my lip. I remember the way she ran with me. Laughing about how ice cream doesn't count as lunch. As soon as she said that I backed away and lowered my eyes. I remember my voice, regretful, sorry, painfully awkward,

"We can get anything you would want to eat. I don't have a preference."

I remember the way she stared at me. And then eventually she asked, voice soft,

"Have you ever had ice cream?"

I remember my eyes opening wide, my hand squeezing hers,

"I read four books on ice cream over the centuries in the library this year. Does that count?"

I remember how her eyes lit up,

"You've got to try it. There is nothing in this world better than ice cream."

I remember how she tugged my hand and I stopped her. Shaking my head, voice small,

"No. We don't need to go here just because I want to. Its your money. Trust me, any where's fine. The sandwich place over there looks good, you said you wanted to eat something substantial. Its fine. Really V. Lets go where you want to go."

I remember her shaking her head, voice a whisper,

"I changed my mind. Let's go here. Ice cream is the best lunch ever. Trust me."

I remember staring at her. Eyes wide. Hands shaking. I remember hugging her super tight. Hands wrapped around her. Voice shaking,

"You are the best friend ever V."

I remember her giggling. We went into the shop together. Hand in hand. At first I ordered the cheapest thing they had. It was a baby scoop of vanilla in a cup. I remember how I looked at the floor when I asked what were sprinkles and if I could have them. I remember her saying that I should trying something more authentic. She ordered me a mint chocolate chip sundae. It cost her 3 sickles and a knut. I remember promising her that I would pay her back. She didn't respond. She just asked me to try it. So I did. I remember squealing super loud. And she giggled and giggled, it was beautiful. As most things with her are.

I remember the first time I brought her to the orphanage. I remember how my hands were shaking. And how I couldn't look her in the eye. It was later that day. After the ice cream, and the sun block. I remember how she gazed up at the building and smiled, wide and said, with eyes shining,

"You deserve better Rose. Don't you?"

And I remember nodding. My lips tingling from the peppermint, teeth smudged with chocolate chips, hands sticky from the ice cream drops that escaped my lips. And she took my sticky hand in hers. And we stood there. Hand in hand. Her shoes were shiny. And mine had holes. Her dress was picked out special. And my shorts were jaggedly cut from jeans. But both of our hands were sticky. One with mint chocolate chip. And one with pulverized, disgusting, non-organic, processed strawberry.

I wonder if Hermione was there that moment. Somewhere behind us. Watching each other hold our hands. She was the first person I told. V. My hands did not stop shaking for days. Hours. She didn't ask me why they shook. Or why I went to the bathroom and when I came back my eyes were red. She didn't judge me for the torn welcome mat, or the yelling coming from inside. And so we stood there. Hand in hand. And I remember her voice, it sounded so precious, it was lovely to hear her talk, her words were soft, her touch was kind, she was my friend. She maybe, maybe cared about me, just a smidgen. She whispered it,

"You are super duper cool Thorne."

I remember turning to her, eyes shocked, and she gave me a big watery grin, teeth uneven, that was before she got braces, eyes crinkling at the edges, my voice wavered,

"Why?"

She tilted her head back. Her long hair ran in the breeze, shining reddish gold. Her voice almost lost in that summer wind,

"Because you are brave. Mummy would say your brave. Whenever I show my heart to people mummy says I am exceptional. So, you are exceptional Rose. Except I don't know what exceptional means, but I think it means super-duper cool. Yeah?"

I remember how the tear felt on my cheek. Warm. Like home. And I looked up at that sky too, it was a brilliant pastel blue, painted without a blemish or a cloud in sight. The sun shined on it, like a masterpiece. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Nothing could ever go wrong.

My voice was soft when I responded minutes later,

"When we get back we can look it up, exceptional,"

She laughed, it was a soft, bonding laugh, not too loud, as if not to frighten the shaking girl that was me away, and not too soft that I would feel stupid for not hearing it. Just right. Just perfect. I remember how she gave my sticky fingers a squeeze, voice sing song,

"I knew you would say that,"

That day was a special day. Because my stomach started hurting, feeling like it would burst, full to the brim with ice cream. And my hands were all smudged with sticky dirt. And I had given a piece of my heart to someone for the first time. And she had called me a long word that began with e, or a, maybe a, but either way I couldn't stop smiling. I showed her the big field. And I introduced her to my friend who lived by the big oak tree. She gave us some herbal tea that tasted bad, so we pretended to drink it and then spilled it on the grass. Later we dug for earth worms and chased after dragon flies by the River Thames. She said she did not mind the rivers stink, or the garbage, or the mud on her nice shiny shoes. She didn't mind when some water splashed her face. She didn't mind when I poked fun at her about how her hair got some of the herbal tea in it. She never minded. It was nice having someone that didn't mind. Maybe it was because I minded for her.

And just as that beautiful sky began to crack and merge into darkness Hermione came. Walking down the path to the big oak, footsteps soft. She was beautiful to look at. I remember what she was wearing. A black dress with little daises on it. She watched us sit and fight about who knew the longest word in Latin. I wonder how long she watched. And then she called out, waving her hand softly above her head,

"V it's time to go home now,"

And I remember how V ran into her arms, wrapping her hands around her, and how Hermione picked her up and spun her around, her hair flying behind her, they looked so happy. I remember how my heart hurt. I sat in the grass, eyes peaking up over the long strands, wide green intelligent eyes. And I gazed on. And Hermione looked back at me. And she smiled, and she opened her palm and slowly a daisy grew, hanging in the air, and her eyes were kind, and I wonder if she thought I would come and get that daisy and introduce myself. But I didn't move. I just watched. And she nodded her head and placed it on the ground. Turning and with a step disappearing into white smoke.

I remember taking my time to go pick up that daisy. And when I did the petals were all wilted. But still it was beautiful My hands were grimy, and I smelled like garbage and dung but I did not stop smiling that day. Even when the hand came down. And the food was bitter. Even when I had to eat but I wasn't hungry. Even when I avoided the other children. Even when I had to take the bath with the other girls, all glowering and poking fun at each other. I did not stop smiling. And when I went to bed I looked down at my hand. My little hand that V had held. And that smile, just for a moment, turned into a grin. And my heart sped up and I couldn't help it. V had become a friend. V had become family. Just like that. And who was I to complain? I loved her. I love her.

The sunlight is soft on my skin, it warms it. My eyelashes tickle my cheekbones. My brows are slightly drawn together. My hair is loose, flowing over both shoulder and pillow. The bed is comfy but cramped. A hospital bed. I must be located in the hospital wing. My eyes are shut. My mind is numb. As if I have suffered from torment, shock and horror. And yet what horror? I can remember the police man. A chill. A darkness. The police man. I need a plan for that. I need V for that. V. V. V.

V is there again. Rox and Lucy too. They sit all around me. I can hear them whisper to each other, voices soft,

"They said she can't remember."

Lucy speaks up,

"Madame Pomphrey said its possible she tried to kill herself."

V cuts in, voice sharp,

"Stop it. Rose isn't like that. You're her friends. You know her. You support her. You don't gossip or judge her."

A quiet sorry. I want to tell them I would never. NEVER. My eyes shut. I am pulled back under.

I close my eyes. I can see me and V walking through the streets of Hogsmeade together. For the first time. We met only three weeks ago. We are little. We walk a feet apart. Our shoulders don't brush. I watch my feet hit the pavement. Dom is there, she walks closer to me, she is chatting about something, going on and on about something. I admit. I wasn't listening. I stop suddenly. Apples. They glow all different colors. Some are dipped in butterbeer caramel. Some are shaped into little nymphs, and mermaids. I grin wide. V laughs at something Dom said. And stops, giving me a wide grin, her eyes follow mine. She walks over slightly to me, voice a whisper,

"Do you want one?"

I glance at her, eyes wide, and shake my head, looking back down, voice soft,

"No. It's okay, they're just pretty to look at."

Dom poked my arm, and grinned, voice laughing,

"Well I want one dummies."

And she brushed past us going towards the stand. I follow her with my eyes. There are many unique fruits. I look at the apples. V nudges me forward voice quiet,

"I'll buy you one,"

I shook my head, voice a murmur,

"Its okay. I'm not hungry."

She smiled wide,

"I like apples too. Go get them."

She hands me a bag, her voice soft,

"Buy the best ones,"

I stare at her, head tilted to the side, voice soft,

"Why?"

She glances at me, and gives me a big grin,

"Because they taste the best."

I shook my head, voice soft,

"What about the bruised ones. Who will take them?"

She gave me a long look.

"No one, probably,"

I stared at her, eyes wide,

"Why not? Why are they not good enough?"

She smiled, soft,

"Just get the best. After all I'm paying for them."

I looked at the apples. Golden, red, green, I reached for the biggest, brightest. But my hand paused. And I picked up the one with the tattered skin, and the dark bruises. The little cuts, the oddly shaped. It's weird. The small things always mattered to me. Even when I was young. Wouldn't those apples feel all alone? And sad? And abandoned? Who knows if they aren't good enough? Who says so? Who are we to say so? I got twelve apples that day. I remember when we were walking away from the stand V asked. Her voice soft,

"Why did you choose the worst ones Rose?"

I remember glancing up, eyes wide,

"They only look bad on the outside, but they are beautiful on the inside. They don't deserve to be forgotten and left behind just because they look weak. They may look weak but they are strong because they have suffered and are still alive. Still a part of the bunch. When you grow a tree you cannot just choose the best produce, you must choose all the produce. When you have kids you can't just choose the ones you love. You have to take all of them."

I remember how she stopped walking and took my hand, fingers soft, voice a whisper,

"Rose, there just apples."

I stared at her. And ducked my head, voice soft,

"Sorry. It's your money, I should have chosen the nice ones."

I remember how her eyes shined, and she reached into the bag and picked the ugliest of them all and took a big bite, giving me a small smile, mouth full of apple as she talked again,

"They're sweet."

I remember Dom turning from in front of us, and stopping us, taking out a camera, she held up her hand, voice ringing loud,

"Stop and smile big for the picture,"

I remember staring at the muggle device. Eyes wide and curious. V gave my hand a squeeze. I looked down, our fingers were interlaced. When had she started holding my hand? Why hadn't I even noticed? I stared at it, eyes big saucers. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes kind. Her voice a whisper,

"Smile on three, yeah?"

I nodded my head a little.

"One."

A blink.

"Two."

I gave her hand a squeeze back, I raised my head.

"Three."

I smiled wide, one of my bottom teeth was missing, and V's teeth were all crooked. And after Dom took the picture I ran to her and asked if I could borrow her camera. I then spent the rest of the day admiring it and trying to figure out how it worked. V saved the camera roll before I started to take it apart, looking at each of the pieces. I spent all night in the library reading on cameras. I ate my eleven apples all that night. I savored every sweet bite. And I cried a little too. For V. V who hadn't judged me for caring about the little things, like the apples. V who didn't care that I had spent her money and probably couldn't give it back. Good V. Kind V. Perfect V. I wrote her a thank you poem for the apples later that week. She had simply shaken her head and murmured a, "You didn't have to."

And then Dom asked where her thank you note was. And V told her to stop poking fun at me, but I didn't understand it was a joke so I made her one too. And she giggled for 15 minutes straight before she realized I was serious. And then V hit her over the head, scolding her about how she had already told her to not make fun of me. But I thought it was perfect. I had never made someone laugh for 15 minutes straight before. I felt accomplished. Like I had done well. And V said I had done well. And that was all I needed to hear. That I did okay. That I didn't disappoint. V said she loves me. V said she will always love me like a sister, and one day, when we are older we can be real sisters, and her family can adopt me. That was after I told her I was an orphan. Back then orphan did not have shame to carry with it. She didn't blink an eye. She understood. She cared. I told Dom and Lucy and Rox later. They were a little more surprised as to why I kept it a secret in the first place.

But V. V got it. She knew I was scared. She knew I was human. She knew that to me all the little things were big scary things. And everything mattered. And I had to make everyone happy. Once, late at night she came and sat on the ground by the big window in our first-year dorm and whispered it,

"I'm really proud you told Dom and them about it."

I remember looking at her,

"Why?"

She looked up at the moon, voice a whisper,

"Because now you will never be alone. Even if I am not here. You won't be all alone."

I remember cocking my head to the side,

"Where are you going?"

I remember how she gazed at me, eyes teary.

"No where. I'll stay right here, with you."

I remember scrunching my nose up,

"They thought it was a little thing. Me being an orphan. That it was stupid to make it into a big thing."

I remember how she sighed, eyes wide, voice soft,

"My mum says that little things are big things for other people. And some big things are little things for other people too."

I remember sighing and lying back onto the ground, hair fanning around me, voice soft,

"Are my big things little things to you?"

I remember her shaking her head, voice soft,

"I get it. You have so little to hold onto. And so little to value that you value everything. Because every little thing is so rare, and so precious, and so treasured."

I stared at her and giggled, lips turning up,

"You make me sound like an idiot."

She shakes her head, voice quiet,

"That's the last thing you could possibly be Thorne."

And that was that. It was understood. Me and V would stick together. Support each other. Help each other. She was good to me. She was like a mother. And often I worried that I burdened her. It took me years to learn that I was no burden. I was something she treasured. I was a big thing. And that made me happy. Really happy. She was special to me. And I was special to her. As simple as that. Nothing could come between us. No one could come between us. We agreed on almost everything and when we did argue, it was for fun. We were never angry at each other. We know the sadness in our eyes and what it means. We know the nausea in our gut, and we get it.

That's why I chose V. Because V was better than the rest of us. Kinder than the rest of us. And I made a promise as a little girl. That I would never be alone. And that goes both ways. I can never let her be all alone. I cannot abandon her. Not like this. Never.

Someone else enters the room. I hear the chair scrape the floor. I feel a hand on mine. A hand I barely know but want to know better. Crave to know better. James. James sits down slowly; his voice is soft. But I cannot hear it. I can just see it. Him falling to the ground, back hitting the floor, his blood is red, crimson as he dies slowly. I am scared to listen to him. I am scared to feel his touch. I am a betrayer. I am a murderer. I am letting him die. No. No you aren't Rose. Why aren't you Rose? Because it's a life for a life. Think Rose. Your missing something. Something important. The words replay themselves in my mind, soft,

"You aren't real. Your just in my head."

I feel my stomach turn. I let out a quick breath, lips parting. What if I am wrong? What if the forgotten were never in my head to begin with? What if its all just imaginary? Nothing is real unless you can touch it, feel it, speak to it. Then how did Dom die? Think Rose. Think faster. Time is running out Rose. You'll be okay, you'll be strong for all of them and save them. Because they are your friends. And you are stronger with them, protecting them then without them. That's just a part of you. That's just what you have to do.

Do orphans really all have the forgotten looking on? Was I just wrong, was I just mistaken? And if I was wrong, if my hypothesis cannot be proven to be a theory how many people are fired, how many peoples lives are ruined and jobs are taken? How long till I can prove it when I am like this? Trapped without a way to stand and move and breathe? I can only fight myself in here. And what if the forgotten are just a part of that self? What if I am right? And they have seen everything I do? How can I make sure? How can I prove? I feel my heart pound. If Dom did not die because I chose her to die then how did she die? How did my mind go to that ultimatum? What if it is all just imaginary blame? An excuse, a reason so I can blame myself and not burden others? What if it is all just in my head and truly nothing is real. And the forgotten have no idea. But. But Dom is dead. And the nightmares are like a reality. So what does it truly mean? Reality is defined by what? Mentality and humanity stand separately or together? And does it matter. Does little, tiny, unimportant me matter in all of this, at all?

~James' POV~

You get used to a room. So used to it you could close your eyes and walk it, and trace the outline of each object. Because nothing ever changes in the room. It stays the same. I never get used to a room. A room is a place that boxes you into a cage of life. Of responsibility. So when the doors shut I slip out of them, and I trace hallways, and countries, and worlds, and shards of the universe.

I haven't this room in a week. I don't think I've stayed in one place. Without moving from its four walls ever before. I think it scares me. I think I don't like admitting I'm scared. So I categorize it as more a disinterest with the walls. A boredom with the white sheets. If it was Rose, and not me, she would say the room was enough. And that the window over looking the warming lake was like a painting, that the summer breeze was soft. That we were blessed. But Rose hasn't said anything. Rose hasn't spoken. Rose hasn't seen the window, and the soft drapes and the blooms of the lilies on the lakes edges. I hope. No. I have learned that hoping doesn't change anything.

Instead, I have grown to tell her. Every day what they look like. The lilies. And then I am telling her about my mom, and my dad's mom. The first Lily. And then I somehow end up on little Lily. My sister. A sister that I have left to her own devices for too long. I tell her that one day I will come back and she won't be a little girl anymore, she will be a woman, and she will not take my crap anymore. And not hold onto me anymore. I tell her that I should try to prevent that day.

She doesn't respond. It has become a repeated one sided conversation. But its nice. For once no one can reply. No can tell me that I should be better than who I am, that I am acting a part, when in fact that is me. This person. The person they are hoping is an image.

Hope is a funny thing. I never have needed to hope before. Not like this. Hope doesn't last long, you get used to sad things, and broken things and then you stop hoping because it's the new normal. I'm still in the hope stage. The stage of it'll be fine. She is breathing so that's all that matters. Its not like she will never be the same. It's not like I hurt. It's not like I'm being selfish. It's not like I couldn't live without her. It's not like I need her.

I remember when I was little I asked my mom if she needed dad to live. It was random and I remember how she set down her work and pulled me onto her lap. And she ran her hand through my hair and she pondered for a moment, and her answer, it was wise, but now it scares me. She said, in the softest voice,

"If you need someone to live than you are abusing them. And that is not healthy. You are trapping them in the guilt of leaving you all alone."

I remember how she looked into my eyes, voice soft,

"I can live without dad. But that does not mean I want to. Because I love him. So, so much."

The chair is light. I pull it back, I sit. The window is closed. The sunlight is still warm on my back, it streams in. It hits pale skin, and dances across stray hairs. It reaches and curves around her delicate figure, it outlines the crease in her brow, the soft scars that dapple pale, clean skin. Scars that the doctors are fading. So that she will look like it never happened.

I feel selfish. For asking them to take the scars away. For asking them to save her. For not coming when I woke up. For living. For a lot of things. But I push it down. I have every right to be selfish. This is my life. Who is most important in life James? Who? Me. Me.

Liar.

Her lips are parted, rose red crimson, with teeth marks digging into flesh for too long, scattered across plush pink. She looks so very unreal; hence, I do not dare to touch her. I watch her. The soft rise and fall of each breath. The quacking tremor of a soft pulse. Beating and repeating and refusing to die. When V leaves, and Scorpius goes to bed, or goes to lunch I stay. I sit in the farthest corner, back against the wall. And I watch her. She whispers in her sleep. Over and over her lushes' lips murmur,

"Dance with me."

I wonder what flashes behind closed eyelids. I am not a wonderer. I was not born to wander this earth and wonder with curiosity why and when and how. But with her it is different. She smiles sometimes. When V says something extra nice. When Scorpius squeezes her hand. They can't see it, her smile, but I can. It is not a physical movement of her lips, or her teeth or her cheeks. It is a soft, almost undetected release of breath, of soft air in a hushed, content manner.

Albus brings me food. He sits with me. His voice is soft when he speaks. And quiet when he leaves. I cannot tell the difference. Its been a week. This is the eighth day of her not waking up. She looks healthier now, her cheeks are not hollowed out, she has gained back some of the weight she lost when Dom died. The bandages, slowly, day by day are removed and the doctors hover over her less. But they are still there. To check. To make sure.

When I know no one is in the room I talk to her. I tell her everything. Its weird. You would think talking to an unconscious girl would be a rather boring conversation. But she responds in her own way. By living. And that's enough. At least for now.

I hate it. Being this terrified. This vulnerable. I am not vulnerable, but she is. And somehow if she is hurt, if she is broken, I am also. Somehow. Also. Also what? This James that sits and wastes the day away doing nothing and watching the rhythm of a woman's breath with such determination, with such salvation is weak. Not just weak but starving. Starving for release. Release from loving her. Because god damnit it hurts. I am not used to the pain of watching someone else suffer. But that's just it. She doesn't suffer. She is happy and positive even lying there, dying, broken, and hurt and sad.

I don't touch her. I speak to her. But I am afraid if I touch her the pulse will stop, or something else. I am afraid she will get hurt. More. Because of me. I know what a bad person I have become. I know that she walked into my life at a bad moment. When I was ready for a year. A quiet year. But its been rather hellish. And the seasons change. And the time goes on and on.

I tell her about dad. How we talked. I tell her that I was mean to him because it sounds better than being mean to me. I tell her that I am a coward. That I begged for Gryffindor so everyone would think I wasn't one. But how they are wrong. Wrong. Me. And then I laugh. It's a hollow, dead beat kind of laugh that falls on silent lips.

I ask her what it is like. I worry. Eyes wide, hands only steady when I feel the faint pulse pulling through. I know I shouldn't worry. Because worrying means that I am attached. And that means they can hurt her. The Forgotten, the death eaters. People. I try not to think too much about consequences. Consequences of loving her.

The newspapers are writing headlines. Bad, bad headlines. Thomas is dead. And his family, his family is pressing charges. Charges for murder. And the press eats it up like candy. No one has been murdered on Hogwarts grounds for a long time. And never has it been a student to a student. They are saying Rose killed him. The ministry is investigating. And it is sickening. Because what else should I have done? Rose won't be happy when she wakes up. If she wakes up. Because they will come for her. And they will bring her into my world, and judge her, and strip her of her hopes and her dreams.

Rose. The Rose I know lives just for tomorrow, just to make everyone around her is proud, happy, content. The Rose I know would never, could never harm a fly. Never hurt a hair on anyone's head. Violence is so far from her system, from her mind that it is simply impossible that she would kill him. But they don't think that. They tare at her. And hurt her.

The press is not my friend. They write things that are true about me, and things that are manipulated. In a modern age where facts are not what is most valued the press cannot be depended on. Because liars can give the press facts. And how is the press supposed to know that there is source is wrong? And who would believe me, to say so.

The investigation for his murder started four days ago. There is no other lead but Rose. Her wand has both the cruciatus curse and Avada kedavra. Which in the autopsy of his body were both found, the latter was the cause of his death. He was drunk. Really drunk. They are playing out the scenario of self-defense. Judging on how he made moves on her beforehand. Saying that he tried to attack her and she used the cruciatus curse to protect herself. But he didn't stop so in a state of utter fear and torment she killed him. They are saying that would explain the ripped clothing. How her robes were in rags. And, after killing him she couldn't live with herself and threw herself off the platform onto the train tracks, getting purposefully run over, in an attempt to kill herself and end her guilt and her pain. But failed. For Fred was there to save her.

Its funny. If it was someone else in the hospital and I read that story I would have laughed. Who possibly could believe that a descent human would do something like that? I would have killed him. If he was trying to rape Rose I would have killed him. But I'm not decent.

They came to get her yesterday. The ministry. They came to move her body to the court prison. And I did something stupid. Something very stupid. I used my name. My last name. Potter, to prevent them from coming in, from entering the hospital wing. I abused not just my power, but my fathers power and my aunts power and my family's power. And you can imagine what the newspapers are writing now.

Front page, in block letters, The Potter Family, openly corrupt. I am making bad decision, after bad decision. My days are wasted by sitting and watching a girl who could not survive Azkaban wilt and bloom depending on what horrors she is seeing in her mind. I am scared. My hands are shaking and they only stop shaking when I hold her. Her hand or brush my thumb across the soft skin of her cheek. So I am utterly and completely besotted. I am disgustingly weak. I am disgustingly self-oriented. And I know when Rose does open her eyes I will see that fresh, flashing, dark disappointment. That I couldn't have been better. Done better. I am preparing myself for that. Because it will happen.

The seat is cold. I sit, hands crossing over my chest, eyes resting on hers for a brief moment, and then I look away, and out the window. Its closed. I sigh and stand and take long steps to it, unclasping the window and opening it. The breeze is hot, she doesn't react. Not that I was expecting a reaction. I hop up onto the window. My feet hit the window ledge, my hands grab onto the top of the window, by the ceiling, and I stand, body rippling in the soft wind. I let go of the window's rim and let my fingers feel the soft breeze. The curtains billow behind me. I let out a breath, I get a few odd looks from the students below. I give them a lopsided grin. And they simply shake their heads and keep going with their days. If it was anyone else they'd call a teacher, scared that they'd jump to their death. But they don't. Because its me. And why would the great James Potter want to die?

The grin falls, and I stick my tongue in my cheek, rolling it over teeth, eyes shutting closed. I haven't eaten in a while. My stomach growls in response to the thought but I ignore it. Food is overrated. So is sleep. And life. Life is very overrated. As a kid I used to think growing up was the biggest adventure of them all. So I rushed the process. It wasn't as exciting as I thought it would have been.

I lean back and feel my body naturally respond, muscle memory and I turn through the air, landing on my feet, facing the bed. I look back at the window. Its wide, and tall. You would think a window that big would be dangerous, but I suppose it is nice. Scratch that. Its boring. The room. The white on white on white. I look back to the bed. And I can feel my lips tip up slightly. Never mind. It's the most interesting room in the world.

I sit back down and stare at her. Azkaban. How would she survive it? Murder is life long sentencing. Her soul would be taken at some point, her happiness drained. Her dreams and hopes crushed. I close my eyes, tipping my head back.

The doctors said we can wake her up. The aurors from the ministry for the investigation planned on doing so. For the trial, so she has time to prepare. But I said no. Over and over. And eventually they gave up. They'll be back though, when she wakes up. I hang my head, hands going to massage my temples.

Is there a way out of this? She would know what to do. Actually, scratch that, she would do the right thing and turn herself in and face the consequences. I flinch at that.

Consequences for something she never did. I can hear my dad's voice, soft,

"James, do you believe she didn't do it?"

I can see red, dark and flashing,

"It isn't about believing its about knowing. I know her. I trust her. Do you trust me, dad?"

A voice cuts into my thoughts, soft heels hitting the ground, old, crackly, someone I've been avoiding,

"What are you thinking about?"

Her voice is soft, kind, still professional. Professor McGonagall.

I sigh and open my eyes, lifting my head to meet her kind eyes. I arch a brow. I can see her telling me Dom will be okay. The anger is thinly concealed in my voice,

"Why do you care?"

She purses her lips,

"Mr. Potter I suggest cutting back the attitude."

I let out a soft, cold laugh,

"I'm busy, so, bye,"

She relaxes her face and gives Rose a long, sad look,

"It is a pity, what happened,"

I choke, and look up at her, eyes narrowed,

"A pity?"

She lowers her eyes,

"For Hogwarts. Yes, a pity."

I stare at her, shaking my head as I stand,

"How can you say something like that? How can you care about Hogwarts' reputation when there is a girl lying here, dying, are you-are you okay? Professor?"

She gives me a long, morn full look,

"Forgive me James. But Miss BlackThorne has broken the law, I cannot give her the schools protection."

I stare at her. My lower lip wobbles,

"You are telling me, you-YOU believe the crap that the news is printing?"

She looks at Rose, eyes sad,

"You tell me James. What else could have happened? Who else killed him? There was no one there. We have millions of spells that protect Hogwarts from intruders, people can't just waltz in. That's not- its not possible. There was no boarder breech that night, no trace of anyone else being there, no fingerprints, no footprints. Her wand has the killing curse in it, at the right time when he died. So you tell me who did it, give me a different scenario that I can believe,"

I stare at her. My eyes close, my voice is soft,

"She said she can't remember."

She looks away from Rose and out the window,

"There is a possibility that that was from the shock."

I bite my lip, hard,

"Or it could be that someone tampered with her mind. The Obliviscatur spell allows you to manipulate memories within a short time. It means you can erase memories and replace them with the version the spell caster wants. But- for around 30 minutes before the new memories are replaced there is a time where the receiver does not remember anything. Therefore Rose said she can't remember. But stopped saying it around 25 minutes later."

She sighs and shakes her head,

"I did not come here to argue,"

I look away, out the window and raise my chin. Saying nothing. She doesn't believe me. She doesn't because she doesn't know her James. Don't blame her James. She is already hurting. You have already been mean. Just ignore her. Ignore her and calm down.

Her voice is soft when she speaks again,

"James?"

I glance up at McGonagall. She stands with her hands folded behind her back. Her eyes scan Rose quickly and then turn to me. Sharp. Soft. A mixture of both. I sigh, hands running through my hair.

"Yes?"

She narrows her eyes a little and clears her throat, going on,

"I know this isn't the time-but"

I arch a brow,

"But?"

She sighs. And pulls up a chair, sitting down. Her eyes watching me carefully.

"But this is probably the only time I will catch you."

I go back to the seat and sit, leaning back and crossing my arms, eyes careful,

"Fine. What is it?"

She sighs. Eyes kind, lips pursed.

"Well."

I wait for her to continue. She does, eventually. Voice business like,

"You are failing every single class. With an F. And the school year will be done in a month and a half. So, unless you want me to hold you back a year, I suggest maybe showing up to class every once in a while and doing some school work."

I yawn. Eyes distracted. Finding Rose, making sure each of her breaths are steady. She sighs and continues,

"I am aware that you have valid reasons for not attending class. But- it is the school rule that if you fail over 65% of your classes with lower than a 35 average grade, we, the school must hold you back."

I stare out the window. The wind whispers soft in the curtains. It brings in late summer breeze, and soft pollen. I let out a breath. Teeth catching flesh and give her a long look.

"Is this your way of paying me back for what you did to Dom?"

She stares at me. Eyes wide. She lets out a shaky breath and looks down. Her voice soft.

"That's not fair."

I laugh, teeth grinding, the soft breeze makes the curtains dance, I watch them turn golden with the shadows of the suns last lights. I can see each shadow. In the shadows I can see Rose dancing, dancing hand in hand with Dom, they are turning and turning, but they are just shadows. And shadows cannot be kept. I look away, lips turning down slightly,

"How so? Wasn't it you that told me you could protect her. That everything would be fine."

She nods her head slowly,

"Yes. But-"

I stand, pushing the chair back, and my voice cuts in, anger rising hot, and white, and blinding, the shadows have disappeared, the words are cold,

"All I have heard from you since you entered this room was but. Do you only have excuses to show me? Do you think that will make me more charitable?"

She sighs and stands with me. Walking to the window. Gazing out at the Slytherin Quidditch Practices. Their green robes swish in the air. She lets out a breath.

"I am going to also have to remove you from your Captain position in the Gryffindor team. Fred has been doing the job for you. And though he refuses to take the position from you. Someone needs to. Things need to continue, even if you are not here."

I glance down. She follows my eyes. And then looks back up.

"The final tests for this grade, I'll let them guarantee if you pass or not. Just show up, or-"

She glances at me, eyes hardened,

"Is that too hard to ask?"

I swallow hard and do not respond. Eyes cast down. She is quiet for a moment. And when she speaks again her voice is careful,

"As for Quidditch you can keep your position if you show up to practice for this last month and win the house cup. After all you have won three years in a row, let's make it four this year?"

I stare out and shake my head,

"I might not come at all next year."

She nods her head,

"Then I will remove you from the system."

I glance at her. Eyes wide. My voice soft,

"Don't you think that's a little harsh?"

She sighs, rubbing a hand over her forehead, eyes looking out,

"No. I think I am being far too lenient. Normally if you miss two weeks of school, not on school property, you are suspended and if it is over three months you are expelled. Missing a week of quidditch practice would get you a suspension from the team. And a month would get you kicked off. And as the captain? Is isn't acceptable to miss more than two practices. And even missing those you need a valid excuse."

I look at her. She looks at me. Voice hard.

"You should thank me James. I don't break the rules for many people Mr. Potter."

I lower my eyes and laugh soft,

"Then stop breaking them for me."

She stares at me. Eyes confused. I look up at her,

"I'm not that important Professor. You are right. Breaking the rules for me seems a little ridiculous."

She sighs and slumps back into her chair, sitting back down, eyes glaring at me,

"Can't you just be grateful?"

I give her a sharp look and she holds my gaze steady, head tilted to the side, lips pursed again,

"Mr. Potter I do not ask much of you. Is really going to the final exams and flying for a month that difficult for you? Is it really that big of a request that you have to act so childish?"

I turn away, looking at Rose,

"I don't know what the next month will bring."

She follows my gaze, and sighs,

"You mean if she goes to Azkaban."

I look at her, eyes sharp,

"I'll agree to win you the house cup but only if-"

She gives me a raised eyebrow,

"If? Since when can the student negotiate the terms of the agreement when I have given you so many second chances?"

I keep going, ignoring her last comment,

"Only if Rose can move up the year with me. I mean after the trial, after she doesn't go to Azkaban can she then take the final exams?"

She stares at me,

"In summer? James- I mean Mr. Potter can you refrain from presenting such preposterous thoughts?"

I narrow my eyes. I can hear Teddy's voice in my head. "If you want something and you cannot live without it play dirty for it."

I bite my lip and tilt my head to the side,

"I'll forgive you."

She stares at me, eyes slightly widened, I go on,

"I'll forgive you for Dom. I won't blame you anymore."

She gives me a slightly aghast look,

"What makes you think I want that?"

I shrug my shoulders,

"Then- I guess never mind."

I stand and pull the chair back to beside Rose. The metal scrapes along the floor. She sighs, lips pushing together, and stands, slowly, eyes on me.

"Is she innocent James?"

I turn and face her. No doubt in my eyes.

"Yes. She is."

She shakes her head,

"Then why did you protect her James? Why did you use your fathers name to stop the aurors from getting her and waking her up? If she is so innocent why are you hiding her here?"

I stare at her, not blinking,

"I am in love with her."

She shakes her head,

"That is no excuse."

I shake my head with her,

"I am not saying it as an excuse. I am saying it as a fact. I protect the things I love."

She doesn't say anything, I go on,

"I could have protected Dom. But someone told me they would do it for me. I wonder who that was? I wonder who else would protect what they love from harm?"

I can see the hurt in her eyes, but she doesn't look away. Her voice is hard, professional,

"Protecting her like that. You made her situation a hundred times worse. People want to take the Potters down. You just gave them an opportunity."

I let out a low laugh,

"What is so scary about falling? I'm ready. The Potter's name is not golden, sometimes we all need a refresher on that."

She blinks, eyes never leaving mine,

"What if she is proven guilty? Will you break into Azkaban and save her? Will you throw it all away, the power, the fame, the name, everything?"

I feel a shudder. She doesn't take her eyes from me. I don't answer. Eyes lowering. Lips sealed shut. She nods her head,

"That's what I thought. You like to say things like the Potter's name is not golden. But truly, you are the only one that believes it is."

She looks at Rose. And finally sighs,

"Fine. If she is proven innocent, without any of your involvement whatsoever I will let her stay in Hogwarts. Though I cannot guarantee her safety here. She will be bullied and hurt, and people will never trust her again. Not like before. Proven innocent or not. That's just the way of the world."

I nod my head. Her face softens slightly, eyes finding mine again,

"And Mr. Potter win that house cup for Gryffindor. And take those final exams, its not like you need to study anyways. IT would be very sad if you stayed a fourth year for the rest of your life."

I feel my lips twitch. She purses her own and leaves, footsteps heavy. I watch her go. And then I look down at Rose. And I roll her words around in my head.

"What if she is proven guilty? Will you break into Azkaban and save her? Will you throw it all away, the power, the fame, the name, everything?"

Why couldn't I answer? Why can't I ever answer? I close my eyes. I don't answer because I know the answer. No. I wouldn't throw it all away. I look at Rose. I can see the disappointment it comes in waves of hot shining gold off of her. I flinch back, jaw ticking.

Can you live without her James? I feel my hands turn to fists. The answer is no. I can't. But Azkaban is living without her. And somewhere, deep in the darkness of my mind I can hear the whisper, "There are visiting hours. You can still see her once a week. That would be enough."

I bow my head, sitting back down. I don't speak to her today. I have nothing to say. Albus brings me dinner. I don't touch it. He takes it away. V and the girls come and say good night. Scorpius shows up after dinner, he is carrying fresh daises. He doesn't speak to me. He speaks to her though, voice soft, eyes smiling, staying positive for her. I curl up in the far corner of the room. The hard floor is cold beneath me. He is leaving, the white haired Slytherin Malfoy snake.

He pauses and looks back at me. I sit with my back pressed against the wall, looking out the window, eyes not blinking. He narrows his eyes slightly, voice soft,

"Have you eaten?"

I send him a sharp glare,

"Why do you care?"

He rolls his eyes,

"I don't, but Al does,"

I scoff,

"Al?"

He shrugs,

"Isn't that his name?"

I don't reply. He sighs and glances over at her, voice soft,

"She'll be okay, she is stronger than she looks."

I send him a curious look and shake my head,

"No. It's the opposite, she is weaker than she looks."

He lets out an annoyed sigh, eyes glaring at me,

"What? Do you think you know her better than I do?"

I tilt my head back,

"Yes."

He rolls his eyes,

"Well you don't."

I snort, and send him an arched eyebrow,

"What are you-five?"

He gives me an annoyed huff but doesn't respond. We are both quiet for a moment. Fred walks in, the door creaks as he closes it behind him, sharing a look with Malfoy before his eyes rest on me. He pats the Slytherin on the back as he walks to me, scooting down next to me, sending me a confused look,

"What's got you in a bad mood?"

I give him an ironic look,

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

He sighs,

"Ahh, so it's a James pity party, great, my favorite,"

I roll my eyes, but don't respond. We are silent, as we both watch Scorpius bid farewell to Rose, his hand squeezing hers, I don't feel any jealousy, he's gay, so why should I? Alright. Fine. It's a little annoying how she seems happier with him. Not that I'd ever admit it to anyone. I look away and arch a brow. Fred studies my facial expression and snickers. Scorpius waves us goodbye and I just nod as Fred and him have a quick exchange of pleasantries.

Fred goes and walks to Rose, he just watches her. I turn away and stand, walking to the window and looking out. His voice comes from far away,

"How's Rose?"

I glance from the window and turn to look back at her. The moonlight shines and makes each golden strand of soft hair turn to liquid silver. I shake my head, voice quiet,

"Alive."

Fred, steps out of the shadow of the door way and wanders over to me, eyes trained on her sleeping form, his voice is soft,

"Is that enough for you?"

I look back up at the stars, there are so many of them, my voice is just a mumble,

"It would be nice if she was responsive. But alive is better than- Well than a lot of things."

He nods his head. And stares at her, head cocked to the side, green eyes intense. I glance back at him and raise an eyebrow,

"What?"

He turns his head, a little sudden, a little surprised and sends me a quick look, voice soft,

"I wish. I wish I had saved her sooner."

I duck my head,

"Don't blame yourself."

He gives me a crooked small smile,

"Hypocrite."

I feel my lips twitch. And duck my head,

"That sounds about right."

He studies me and lets out a soft sigh,

"Is this still James Potter I'm talking to?"

I stare at my hands and let out a heavy breath,

"Who is James Potter?"

He gives me a nudge with his shoulder,

"Are you having a mid-life crisis? Should I be concerned?"

I sigh, and give him an annoyed look, he scrunches up his nose at me,

"Sorry. I'm bad at the whole emotional opening up to each other stuff."

I shake my head,

"Never mind."

He gives me a long look,

"No. No. Not never mind. I'm listening. Try again."

I feel myself become more guarded. And he grabs onto my arm, turning me to face him,

"You wanna know who James Potter is?"

I don't look him in the eyes, he lets out a soft annoyed laugh, and goes on,

"He's brave. Stupidly so. And he lacks sentiment. And kindness. But he is a good person. He is interested in his own life more than anyone's. And that's a flaw. But he can work on that."

I let out a cold chuckle,

"Sounds like a charming guy."

I go to leave but he stops me, jaw ticking,

"And he's an idiot. Because he goes from having tons of self-esteem to none in minutes. That's messed up. His life is like a roller coaster. And his heart is made of ice."

I stare at him, eyes burning with fresh hurt, covered by shades of anger and tones of disinterest,

"Thanks. Really I'd like to meet this guy. Sounds wonderful."

He lets go of my arm and morphs his face to match my expression. His eyes are soft though, soft and caring,

"He is wonderful. Because that's all a lie. His heart is the softest of them all, and he never had any self-esteem to begin with, he is in fact brilliant, so very brilliant that no one can stand up to his intelligence, but he likes to act like an idiot. He latches onto people and he cares about them, no matter what they do or how they hurt him. And he is a bad, bad person to love. Because if you don't really know him you won't understand how rare and beautiful his love is. How pure, and how direct it is. And how he needs all the eyes and the people and the laughs so that he can be worth something. And that he lives every day like it's his last because he wants to die. Because death is appealing to him. Not because he is a coward. But because he is scared of living. He doesn't like living. Not at all. Not that much."

He lets out a heavy breath and turns his back on me, looking out the window,

"He is strongest when he is fighting an enemy he can kill. He is the scaredest when someone he loves is hurt. And he knows he can't live without them. He is scared when he realizes he should have been valuing life and the people in his life. And then he changes. Just for a few weeks. I call it the shell shock reaction. And then he builds the walls and hides behind them. And he thinks no one notices. But the people who know him do."

He tilts his head back, looking up at the stars,

"He doesn't know how to say thank you or how to say sorry. Because he feels ashamed that he messed up. Because he thinks he disappointed them and let them down. He is scared of getting too close to people because then they will have expectations. And he knows he cannot keep those expectations. So he acts like a bad person. And one day, he realizes a part of him is that person. Because you never act a part, you just show a different part of you, that was already there, inside of you. And that. That scares him the most."

I stare at him. Eyes wide. My lips parted ever so slightly. He doesn't look back and goes on, voice hard,

"He is consumed by the idea of fame and fortune. He wants to be like his father. He has always wanted to be like his father. But he can never be good enough because his father is simply too good. So he gets scared of letting him down in big ways, so he makes sure to let him down in small ways so he won't be too disappointed when he lets him down in big ways."

He stares up at those stars, voice softening,

"But those who are loved by James Potter will have a guardian angel by their side for the rest of their lives, no matter what he says, or what he does, or what lies he pushes in front of him. He has a good heart. That beats with such a beauty. And he deserves the world but the world, the world will never accept him. Not as who he is. And that scares him. Because that is what he thinks. And he is a fool to think that."

We are silent for a long time. My voice is a whisper when I speak,

"I don't think scaredest is a word."

He gives me an annoyed look,

"Shut up."

I should smile, right here and show him that I'm alright. But my lips turn down. And I don't say anything. Eventually, after a long moment, I speak,

"What should I do?"

He turns to face me,

"About what?"

I stare at Rose. I shake my head, voice soft,

"To deserve her love. What do I do to deserve it?"

I send him a glance,

"And if you say change I might strangle you,"

Fred laughs and leans against the window ledge,

"Changing who you are would not help. Because she is in love with this you. Not the you you would change into."

I give him a long glance,

"What if I was better man?"

He pokes my arm,

"Man? That's a little self-conceited isn't it James? I think boy sounds more accurate,"

I roll my eyes,

"Shut up. I mean it."

His smile drips off of his face and he gives me a serious nod, voice quiet,

"She wouldn't love you then. She loves you for you James. And that's rare. I don't think changing yourself will help anything."

I give him a sharp look,

"Then what?"

He shrugs off of the wall and pats my back,

"Try being selfless, you'd be surprised how much that can change."

He walks out of the room, I call after him,

"Thank you."

He pauses in the door way, not looking back,

"For what?"

I give him a long look,

"For saving her."

He hesitates for just a fraction of a second. And then just simply nods and leaves.

~Roses' POV~

"Greatness is a scary thing."

I can see the long table. A boy with green eyes sits on one end. A boy with golden eyes sits on the other. The boy with the serpent eyes stands, he tilts his head up. I follow his action. Swirling above the room are bodies, chained to each other, eyes closed, hair floating across faces, soft. I can see a subtle murmur of breath whisper from cold, blue lips. He doesn't laugh. It is no longer as funny as the green eyed boy thought it would be. He thought it would always be funny. But he got bored.

His lips hardly move as he speaks,

"You want to negotiate. Not for the world but for you own life."

He stares up at the swirling bodies, his lips part, his eyes are intelligent, they shine with a bright, unhidden fascination. He sucks in a breath,

"No matter how hard you try James you cannot ignore human nature. You can give me excuses. And lies. And say it is for the common good. But you are only ever bettering yourself."

He turns his head and looks around the grand room, at the high walls, the long, long table set with empty table settings. Glasses of wine never drunk. He screams, hard, high. It is brutal, like a slap. He turns to face him. He slams his hands down on the table. The table shakes. The wine glasses tremble. The white table cloth goes unstained. The red liquid sloshes in crystal cups. He stares down at the sitting golden eyed boy. I can just see eyes. Glaring, burning eyes. His voice is cutting,

"You want power? You want the top? Take it. Take it all James."

He shutters, high, cold, I can hear his breath shake, a single clear tear running down his cheek,

"But what is the point of being king when there is no one left to rule? Its just an empty throne, in an empty castle, with big, grand rooms full of empty seats. I will give you what you desire."

He pushes the chair back and steps aside. I can see a throne. It glows golden in eerie green light. He laughs high,

"But I will take every last citizen of yours and I will kill them. Try ruling hell alone James. Try living with yourself then."

He steps closer. His heal hits the floor, boom, his eyes find mine, he stares at me,

"What is the point of being king when there is no one to bend the knee?

He cocks his head to the side,

"You're just another chess piece on the board. The king may be the last piece to die. But the king has no power beyond a title. And yet everyone protects him, dies for him without cause. Without thought. Because they think they are good. They think the king is worth fighting for."

He closes his eyes, I feel my eyelids flutter shut. His words are soft.

"Greatness is a lonely thing."

I turn. The room is dark. It has one small window. The window has bars. I can hear heavy breathing coming from the other side. I let out a scream. My back hits a moldy, cold and damp wall. The wall swirls into smoke and my back hits the floor. I am in a cell. A muggle prison cell. There is a police officer that strolls up and down the hallway outside. He stops, he turns to me, the keys jingle, his voice is soft,

"You have a visitor Rose."

I stand, I reach for the bars, I fall forward, spinning through the air, my butt hits the chair's seat. My hands slam behind my back. Hand cuffs. There is a boy. He sits in front of me. His eyes are telling, they are green. My green. He leans his head to the side; his eyes scan over my form. He says nothing for a moment. And when he does speak he is cold, cold like the wet of the walls. The walls drip with water, its raining outside. The handcuffs aren't handcuffs they are red and hot and piercing my skin. I can see something, a glimmer of dark moving fabric outside of the small window. I can hear the scrape of its nails. The cold is unbearable. The cold is chilling. I cannot smile. My cheeks won't move. They won't do what I tell them to. I can feel a tear fall, slipping over the curve of my lower eyelashes. The tear traps memories of cold days. Of no sleep. Of starvation. His voice rings,

"You aren't dead yet."

I don't answer. I can see my eyes meet his. They are pleading, I can see a pain. A pain of months of torment. He lets out a low laugh,

"You used to be so talkative. What happened Rose? Nothing to say? Not going to ask me how my day was?"

I can see a wild, contagious insanity flickering like a trapped flame deep in my eyes. My fingernail hits the desk in a pattern. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes search mine, his voice is soft,

"Do you still have a soul Rose?"

The tears are blurring. My lips won't move. The dark shadows curl in on each other. Rising from the walls, turning and spinning around me. Darkness. I wonder what other colors exist in the world. Other than black. I can hear the claws flick against the walls. They are coming. I start to shake. My mouth springs open and shut, my jaw unhinged. My finger taps faster and faster. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

He laughs high. Cheeks splitting into a grin, I claw for him, my hand a skeleton's, I reach for him. I choke out one word. One desperate word.

"Please."

The tears roll down hollow cheeks. His grin falters and he stares at me. Eyes confused. The creature is coming. Faster. I shrink into the chair. I let out a mumbled word. Words. I don't know what language. It's a spell, no. No its something else. The words are fast. They beat against him. They tell him. They spill. The creature is closer. Its breath is on my neck. I don't want to die. He leans closer, eyes wide. The creature wraps its hand around my throat. I can't breathe. Not hands, talons. Black, leather skin stretched over thin bone, hard bone. Cutting bone. The words pour, salvation, the future. I scream them. He gobbles them up, like he is the starving one.

His green eyes dig into mine. The second collapses, the time runs cold. My lips move, the wind outside is furious, and yet I know he can hear me. The words fall on deaf ears. I can't hear what I am saying but it is big. Growing and writhing out of me. His eyes are hungry, his hands retreat. He won't save me. His eyes glow in the night. The rain pours. He nods his head. And stands, the chair scrapes back. My hands claw for him. The creature is pulling me back, I am going to die. He cleans his hands on a blood red handkerchief I scream. No noise. The door opens, it bangs shut behind him. The bars are wet, wet with blood. My hands are bleeding. He doesn't look back.

TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP.

My finger hits over and over, my hands shake. My breath fails. The fingernails scrape against wall, against skin, the sound is defining. I can hear each footstep fade away. He is leaving me here. To die.

The creature is here. I look up. It is dark. The cloak hides its face. It has no face. Its hands are like white smoke, they fade and turn, flesh whispers around hollow bone. Each joint is defined. A long finger reaching for me. I shrink back. My chair topples over, I ready myself for the impact of the floor on my back. The Dementor towers over me. I can see a black hole. It's a mouth. It is hungry. Feed it Rose. You know what its like to be hungry. My lips open. The dementor leans closer. I can see its lips opening. I can see a wolf. A wolf. A wolf that won't come. My Patronus won't come because my wand was broken in two. The tears are so, so cold. My eyes won't shut. My back hits the ground. No. It hits nothing. A blink. I am falling. I fall through the floor. My back hits a cot. I am in a muggle cell. They are dragging me somewhere.

She is professional. A therapist. She leans closer. She smiles. She hands me a white pill. There is a glass of water. My lips are already open. The pill is hot on my throat. The handcuffs are too tight. I wish I could ask them to loosen them. She asks me questions. I can't hear. I can see her fading in and out of my vision.

Then I hear it, a voice, soft, cold,

"What if she is proven guilty? Will you break into Azkaban and save her? Will you throw it all away, the power, the fame, the name, everything?"

There is a defining silence. Azkaban. I close my eyes. I need to get out. Save yourself Rose. You have never needed a hero before. Save yourself. The dementor leans closer, the lady keeps asking the same questions every day. I can see so much. My eyes are wide. Choose. Choose. V or Dom. V or James. Dead. Dead. Dead. I reel inside of my head; every option is horrible.

Jail. Prison. Azkaban. Dementors. V. James. No escape. I feel like I am suffocating. The words are soft.

"Dance with me,"

The daises turn red, his eyes are green. His hand is extended.

"All just in my head."

I can hear Fred's voice,

"Try being selfless."

I can feel hot tears. I have been selfless. MY WHOLE LIFE. What do you think got me here? The chair is cold. I look to see who is visiting me this time. It's me. Me. Azkaban me sits across from muggle prison me. And me? I watch on from far above. Like god. Except I am no god. I am a slave of time, or mental torment. I scream it.

"WAKE UP."

My eyes aren't closing, because they are already closed. I can't see. No. I can see so much. A blur of colors, hands, darkness, flowers. The earth is swallowing me whole.

They watch each other. Me and me.

They observe each other.

Eyes tormented.

The colors disappear. My breath steadies.

A calm settles in the room.

And there is a slight contentment.

The reflection of insanity is often our salvation. They extend chained hands. Not touching, but still in the fact that the chains are one form, one solid entity.

We don't speak. They are trying to tell me something. The me's. They are trying to tell me of the future. Of my future. Everyone's future.

If being selfless brought me here. Why don't I try being selfish? For once? The tears don't fall anymore. Who do I choose? V or James? Who will better you Rose? Which one can save your life? And which will fail you over and over?

I can see two court rooms. Two possibilities. But something is telling me there cannot just be two options.

One. Murder of my foster family in Peru. Life long sentencing in prison in London.

Two. Murder of Thomas. Life long sentencing to Azkaban with Dementors.

Three. Three? Why is there no three?

I can hear someone talking. Fred's voice. Soft.

"Who is James Potter?"

I shrink back from the question. Everything is painted red. I want to close my eyes. I want to close my eyes but they are already closed. And something. Something is horribly wrong. I want to scream for help but no one believes me. I can hear McGonagall's voice,

"How do you know she is innocent?"

I can see the dementor coming closer. The pill is big. It gets lodged in my throat. The handcuffs are cold. The room is small. Confining. I can hear a stranger's voice,

"Do you ever consider dying?"

I look up. The Azkaban cell is small. I let out a small breath. My lips barely move as I talk.

"No."

He stares at me, he is beautiful, his eyes are the darkest of blacks, his eyes are slits. His accent is thick,

"Why?"

I look up at him, the tears won't come. No emotion. Just dulled pain.

"Because I can see it."

He leans closer,

"See what?"

I stare at him, eyes tired, body exhausted, I stare out the small bars at the dark creatures that move past our cell, I tilt my head to the side,

"Everything. I can see everything."

He tilts his head to the side, following my movement,

"Will you ever escape?"

I look up and smile, I haven't smiled before, not in years. The smile hurts. I can hear them hiss, the happiness cannot last, they are starved for it. They feed off of it. They are coming for it.

My voice is sad,

"No."

He stares at me. I go on,

"No…But they… They will come join me."

He doesn't blink,

"Who? Who will come?"

I laugh, it howls through the air, my teeth shine red, the blood splatters across the walls,

"Everyone. Everyone will come."

He shrinks back from me; voice broken,

"Why will they come?"

I stare at him, eyes blood shot,

"Because its fate. You can't change fate. You can't. You can just. Just wait for it."

He watches me,

"Are you waiting?"

I nod. He tilts his head to the side,

"For what?"

I star up at the ceiling,

"The future."

A pause,

"I'm waiting for the future."

I can see the wand in my hand as I kill Thomas. I can hear desperate words. "I can't remember." I can see a hand extended. "Dance with me." I can hear V's voice. "Ignorance brings chaos, not knowledge."

I am drowning. I feel the scream echo and vibrate my bones.

"WAKE UP."

The green eyed boy cocks his head to the side, my voice is loud in the still of the daises,

"All in my head."

A soft flutter of eyelashes on high cheekbones,

"You're not real."

A shutter in my bones, a soft, dull, aching, real pain.

A blink.

My eyes open.

Wide.

I am in a hospital bed. The room is dark. James is asleep in the corner. I can see his huddled form. I take a deep breath. The walls are white. The curtains billow in the darkness.

"Ignorance brings chaos, not knowledge."

My lips part. My eyes widen.

A realization. Fast. Hurtling.

My finger moves ever so slightly, scraping at the white sheets, a soft sound. My hand curls into a painful fist. My eyes don't blink. I can't move. Why can't I move? I stare up at the white ceiling. My breath shakes.

I can see V reading the book. V turning the pages. I can see it all. Her words wash over me.

My eyes shut. I know. I know so much. But in fact, I know nothing. Nothing at all.

"What are you scared of Rose?"

A whimper,

"Knowing too much, too little, nothing at all."

V is right. Ignorance does bring chaos.

And I am ignorant. And chaos is coming.

~James' POV~

The sun is warm on my back. I watched it rise. The darkness disappeared and faded into a non-existent state of being. No. That's wrong. Darkness is in every shade of color, an undertone of yellow is black, and the white is see through and non-existent.

Scratch that. The sun rise was boring, the sun did the same thing it always does, and the moon went away, just like it always does. They must get bored. The sun and the moon. Bored of repeating. Repeat is exhausting.

I stand. McGonagall's words roll over in my mind. What am I doing here? Really and truly? How do I know Rose didn't do it? How can I be so blindly sure? What if she did? Would that really make any difference to me? Somehow I don't think it would. Maybe, some deep twisted part of me hopes she did. Kill him. So she can understand me. That would be nice, wouldn't it?

I bite my lip and look away. Bad James. Horrible, horrible James. To think something like that. When your purpose is no longer to think, its to support. But how do you support a corpse? A corpse like human. I turn away from the window and walk to her bed side.

She looks the same. I feel my lips turn up. I study her, eyes scanning over her. My eyes find her hand. I feel my blood run cold.

A fist.

Her hand is formed in a fist. I stare at it. It wasn't like that last night. My eyes flicker to her eyes. Shut. Closed. I can feel my own disappointment swell and retreat like the tide. I bite my lip. And crouch beside her, my fingers are soft on hers, as I slowly uncurl each long, pale finger. The sight before me makes my breath catch.

Blood. Fresh and just dried blood.

Her fingernails are caked in it. And her hand? Little crimson crescents adorn her palm with a sickly pattern. Just her right hand. I don't speak. I just watch it. Eyes narrowed slightly.

Madame Pomfrey walks in and sends me a slightly concerned look. She has many bottles of potions and antidotes with her, as she does every morning thus far. She hums a soft tune, opening a few other windows. Eventually she makes her way to my side, voice soft,

"Any changes dear?"

I glance up at her and look back at Roses' hand. She follows my heated gaze. Her lips part slightly and she lets out a sigh, walking into her office and coming back with a bull of hot water and a soft cloth. She flicks her wand and the water swirls. She adds a few other odd ingredients, a hair of a mermaid, a pinch of crushed bee queen wing, one first born tear.

She swirls them in, till the water turns from clear to a soft lilac purple blue.

She sits beside me, and softly dabs at the new injury. She is silent for a long moment, and after some time she speaks up, eyes trained on Rose,

"This a sign of her self conscious waking up."

She gives me a quick, pitiful glance. And sits back on her heels, eyes deep in thought, her voice going on,

"I have to hand her over as soon as she regains consciousness."

I send her a glare, voice steady,

"This doesn't count."

She opens her mouth, I cut in,

"It doesn't count."

She shuts her mouth and sighs. Eyes squeezing shut, and then opening, her voice is quiet,

"I cannot let her sleep like this for much longer Mr. Potter."

I glance at her,

"Why not?"

She looks very sad, voice a little timid,

"It is bad for the mind. To be trapped in there, all alone, dealing with whatever trauma that she last remembers."

I close my eyes, my head bows, my voice is barely audible,

"She won't survive court. Not like this. NOT like this."

She nods her head, eyes broken,

"She is a wonderful person James. She used to come and ask me a million questions on how I did my job, and all the accidents that happened. She wanted, one day to come and aid me. Sometimes she would bring cookies she baked with Dominique-"

She breaks off, and lets out a rattled sigh,

"She has had a tough year James. She came- to visit me a few times in the beginning, in September, but- but then in February, when Dom. Oh my. I haven't seen her since."

Her eyes are slightly glassy,

"She wouldn't hurt someone. She would never- she- she isn't like that."

I don't say anything. I slowly extend my hand, palm up. She glances down at it. And gives me a slightly startled look. And then her eyes light up, just a little bit, and her crinkled fingers find mine. And we sit there, on the floor looking up at a beautiful girl. With sad eyes. Sad eyes.

We don't say anything for a long time. Slowly, as the minutes pass I feel my body relax. The wall, the fears fall down and I just sit there. Just me. Plain. Simple.

She glances at me, her eyes are sad, she has smile crinkles around them. Her voice is quiet when she talks again.

"I remember the first James Potter, your grandpa, he used to be in the hospital wing all the time, him and his friends got in trouble at least five times a day. He looks like you- scarily so,"

I nod my head. She goes on,

"Once Lily got hurt. Like badly hurt in potions class, when things got out of control. It was fourth year. She hated him with all her guts. But-he-he stayed with her for days. And the day she woke up, he left. And he wasn't there. Because he knew she would not have wanted to see him."

She lets out a soft laugh at the fond memory,

"I was only an assistant back then, in my seventh year, I never left Hogwarts. Right after school ended I stayed here, and I watched over all these precious lives. It's an honor you know, being the nurse. You get the ones that want to skip class, and sometimes you get to see how much people care about someone. How much, for instance, you care about Rose BlackThorne."

I pull my hand away and stand, slouching into the chair, eyes never leaving Roses' shut ones. She watches the action but says nothing of it. She goes on instead, voice just a lulling whisper,

"I know you are scared of the possibility of Azkaban. But it is not your choice to make. Its hers. And if I don't wake her up, then she won't get to make that choice. On whether she wants a fair trial to prove her innocence, or to live in the shadow of you, and the protection of the Potter's name. Power can be good. But she may not want that power. Don't force it on her."

I feel my lips part. I close my eyes and place my face in my hands. I don't say anything. Neither of us do. After some time, she stands and does her normal checkup. She does a few spells, a couple dosses of medicine. She goes to leave, but pauses and looks back at me, voice soft,

"I won't wake her up. But… But you will regret it. Regret not letting it be her choice."

And with that she leaves.

Days pass. Its been two weeks. Other than one fist, six days ago, there are no changes. Albus brings dinner, V hangs out with me between classes. Rox and Lucy decorate Roses' hospital bed with adorable things. Scorpius' talks with Rose take longer and longer. His hand on hers. Not that I notice. Its not like I'm jealous or anything. He likes Al. Obviously. Right James?

My friends haven't really stopped by. Other than Fred. Fred visits Rose sometimes. He is cheery as always. He tells me how everyone is. And he studies for finals. He begs me to go back on the team. I don't reply. Nothing really seems that important. Like a team. Or food. Or jealousy. Well. Maybe jealousy is a little bit more important.

A couple random Ravenclaw students visit pretty often. I'm guessing classmates of Rose. Some of them whisper about what might have happened. What happened. If she did-if Thomas is her fault. I try not to punch anyone. I succeed at that. Surprisingly.

The halls are the most annoying part. The whispers have begun to turn negative. I mean, its bound to happen. I'm breaking the law. By keeping Rose here. But I try to not think about that. I mean, I am thinking about it. A lot actually. Everyone keeps telling me it's a bad idea. I don't usually care about others opinions. So why should I care now? Right or wrong what's done is done.

The headline to the newspaper today is unappealing. It reads,

"The Potters are above the law? Or is the law above the Potters?"

I burned the newspaper. It seemed like a good idea in the moment. On second thought it was another bad idea. Madame Pomphrey freaked when there was smoke filling up the hospital wing. I told her to chill. She asked me what 'chill' meant. I remember face palming. That was my day. Burning a newspaper. Talking to Rose about the bloody press. And then changing the topic to the repressed people's voices around the world. And then about how actually I should be happy that the press is so openly questioning me. Because it means that the people do have a voice. And that I should not be annoyed. Because if I am annoyed then I look like a tyrant. Yeah.

I'm getting bored. I think I deserve some sort of prize for making it this long though. Two weeks in a white walled, three windowed, bed ridden room. With a passed out Rose for company and a grumpy old nurse, who likes reminiscing about the past.

Now I am currently searching for Lola. Because I never heard her deal. And I was drunk and rude. And should apologies. Like a decent human being. To be honest it is just something to busy me. To keep my hands, my feet, my heart moving.

I have never been in a state like this. I feel like the James I know is somewhere very far away. Asleep. Or passed out. Dead.

Lola is an excuse, a way to step out of the white walled room with a purpose. Purpose? Since when do I need that to live?

Plus I get really-really rude when I'm drunk. And it wouldn't normally bother me. But-something about how it was just plain unjust to her chills me. Though saying sorry may not be my forte. I am a starving, sleep deprived, tipsy on caffeine, adrenaline junky James Potter. So a sorry might as well come now. Rather than when I am still trying to be cool. Not that I am not cool right now. Just that I am rather uncaring. My reputation is already going to hell. I'll salvage it later. Like tomorrow or something.

A pause. The chill isn't from me being rude to her. The chill is from the unsettling indifference with the bad fame.

The halls are filled with long looks and following eyes. My jaw clenches. I see her up ahead. My voice rings out as I call her,

"Lola."

She stops in the halls and looks back; her eyes are brown. Wait. Her eyes were green. I remember the sickly green. Green likes Roses green. I shake my head and give her a nod, as I stroll over. Let me stress that I made an attempt to be as pulled together and human as possible. When I say that, I mean that I haven't eaten in a while, and the amount of caffeine pills I have swallowed is an exaggerated over dose. So acting like a human is the closest to cool I am at right now. Also, my 'stroll' over to her was more like a staggered stumble. But I kept my gaze steady. Strong James.

I give her a small grin, eyes dead, voice as lively as a stone,

"You never told me about the deal you wanted to strike."

She shakes her head, eyes staring at me,

"What deal?"

I laugh softly,

"I was drunk. I said some offensive, rude, sexist things that were totally inappropriate, and we never got to talk about the deal, between me and your dad,"

She stares at me. Eyes wide, and lets out a nervous laugh, I go on,

"I'm sorry about that first bit, by the way."

Her nervous laughter continues, eyes straying to the stares we are getting, and then back to me,

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

I step closer,

"The bar. Where we met."

She shakes her head, voice soft,

"I don't drink."

I let out a laugh,

"You were drinking. Trust me, I remember."

She tilts her head to the side,

"Remember what?"

I swallow hard, jaw beginning to tick. My patience is gone. No. It was never there. I arch a brow, voice a little livelier,

"You and I, at the bar."

She shakes her head, giving me a weird, uncaring look,

"No Potter, you must be wrong, I can't leave school property."

I lean closer,

"Its fine, just tell me the deal now."

She scrunches her eyebrows together,

"The deal about what?"

I give her a duh look,

"The Red Handed,"

She arches a high brow, eyes sparking,

"The who? Potter-James, are you okay?"

I feel the room spin. I shake my head,

"Why don't you remember? We talked about this."

She bites her lip eyes looking me over, eyebrows coming together, voice hard,

"No. We really didn't. I have no clue what you are saying."

I step closer,

"Did your dad do something to you? Did your family hurt you, or something?"

She steps back, putting a hand up, the other reaching for her wand slightly, eyes narrowed,

"What is your deal?"

I grin,

"The deal. That's right. You never told me it. I'm sorry I was so drunk, everything-it was pretty blurry,"

She gives me a big fake smile, eyes guarded, a little frightened but more annoyed,

"Great. Lovely. Thank you for randomly telling me how drunk you got. Illegally."

I narrow my eyes. Tilting my head to the side,

"You mean you don't remember?"

She stares at me, shaking her head, a crease forming in her brow, voice cold,

"How could I remember something that never happened?"

I let out a soft chuckle,

"But I was there, it happened, you and I talked,"

She stares at me, giving me a clueless look, I step closer, she steps back, voice slightly threatening,

"Chill out Potter. You're freaking me out."

I shake my head,

"Stop playing games-we talked-"

She steps back, eyes scanning over my face, flickering over each feature, darting, inquisitive but uncaring,

"No we didn't. And you need to back away."

I step back a couple steps she lets out a breath, I shake my head, voice soft,

"But your dad, your dad wanted to meet me,"

She stares at me, eyes rising to meet mine. They are dark, brooding with a dark, seething tint, those eyes glow with a murderous intent, a thinly hid anger writhing, her voice cuts my words off, dark,

"Is this some sort of sick joke to you Potter?"

I stare at her, my eyes narrow slightly,

"No-I want to help you, and you want to help me"

She lets out a choked, throaty laugh, her lips tremble with rage, her voice is biting,

"My dad died when I was twelve. He was an auror, and a D.A member and he died on a mission. I missed most of first year you idiot."

I stare at her, my face falling, What? The clench in my jaw slackens. And what comes instead is a ripple of hysterics. I am not familiar with hysteria. I-me-James? Never acts crazy. Not like this. My voice is choked,

"What?"

She rolls her eyes, emotions rage beneath them, but I can see no lie, none, and it is unnerving, almost frightening, I steal myself, my jaw ticking, she goes on, voice brutal,

"You think it's funny bullying a random girl about her past?"

She stares at me, eyes scanning me from head to toe, her voice drips with pure horror, spitting the words at me,

"God you're disgusting,"

I open and close my mouth, slightly stunned, she goes on, eyes digging into mine,

"Also, isn't your girlfriend dying James? What are you doing going and getting drunk with girls that don't even exist?"

I don't say anything, my eyes narrowing, she lifts her chin, eyes piercing,

"And a pointer don't apologize to a girl for being sexist with a 'sorry'. Change yourself and then come back crawling."

I shake my head, my voice is slightly bewildered, losing the cool exterior for a moment,

"I didn't-what? No, that's not possible, it's not, you don't get it."

She stares at me,

"Get what? That my pain is amusing to you?"

I stare at her, my voice matter of fact,

"We met."

She bites her lip, giving me a slight insane look,

"Yeah. Like once during breakfast a while back, you were a real gentleman then too,"

The sarcasm drips from her voice. I shake my head again,

"No. Recently, the day, the day Rose-she"

My voice breaks and I look down. She steps back, the bell rings,

"I have to go to class James. I mean, I MEAN Potter."

I shake my head,

"No its fine you can call me James."

She laughs,

"Do I look like I care what I can call you?"

I snort. I don't think I've ever snorted before. She gives me an odd look. My voice is getting steadily higher, eyes searching hers,

"You're lying. You were there, I'm not crazy,"

She gives me a long look, eyes staring into mine, and when she does speak her voice is just a whisper,

"I was where James? Where?"

I stare at her. Where was I? I was at a bar. Wasn't I? A bar. Teddy was there after her. Teddy. Teddy will know. My voice is back. Back to guarded.

"At the bar."

She lets out an annoyed laugh,

"What bar? Which one?"

I tilt my head to the side, eyes narrowing to slits, she lets out a loud laugh, ironic almost, voice biting,

"You don't even know and you expect me to believe you? Or is this the new cool way of asking out girls?"

I roll my eyes,

"I'm not asking you out,"

She turns to leave, I step closer, her back faces me, I ask,

"Do you know who the red handed are?"

She turns slowly, I can see something flicker deep in her eyes, she blinks, gone, she puts on a slight, small, almost reassuring smile, staring at me,

"The red what?"

She gives me a weird look,

"Is this you wanting your interview?"

I shake my head. The room spins slightly. I haven't been sleeping for days, I should sleep but I have to watch Rose. Rose needs your best face James. Your support, you need to be there for her and get out of your head. What am I doing here? I almost laugh, and then I do a soft chuckle, and then I am laughing hard head thrown back. Its hilarious. James Potter-crazy? HA. Yeah right. That's like saying Dumbledore was secretly Voldemort. Preposterous. Its funny, she thinks I'm crazy. Merlin I might be.

And that thought makes me laugh louder.

She thinks I am CRAZY? When she is the one acting insane? Pretending she never met me? The thought of James Potter losing his mind is hilarious. I am strong. Steady and I just showed myself to be a lunatic in public, in front of tens of Hogwarts students. I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. Who is this man and where is stable and in control James? Merlin I miss him. Get yourself together. She might talk and spread a rumor that I'm crazy. I let out another little chuckle. Why would it matter? Who would believe it anyways? Everyone loves me, so, so much they could never, ever possibly think I'm insane. Prove them right James.

My laughter comes to a halted stop. Everyone is watching me. I feel my lips fall into a straight line.

I can hear Fred, voice a whisper on crispy night air,

"Who is James Potter?"

My lips won't turn up. I stare straight ahead. Eyes slightly glazed.

Lola gives me a spectacle look and steps back, voice quiet,

"It sounds like you are still pretty drunk."

I bite my lip, voice steady. Mouth barely moving. I can see surprise in her eyes, my voice is natural, it comes naturally, it isn't deep or controlled its free, and bloody hell it's refreshing,

"Can we meet up?"

She stares at me, she looks slightly fazed, and then clears her throat and blinks,

"I'm dating someone, and also, I'm not interested, no offense."

I let out a soft chuckle, my lips are moving again. And the eyes? One by one I can feel my mind shutting them. Eye lashes brushing against cheeks. They cannot see me. But, really? Does it matter? Why would it? Its not like you are that great James.

I shake my head, lips turning up slightly at the edges,

"Not like that. To talk."

She lets out a soft surprised laugh, and shakes her head, voice slightly concerned,

"Are you insane? Or do you have multiple personality disorder?"

I grin,

"Why does it matter? Do you judge people for having mental disorders?"

She shakes her head, eyebrows raised, voice clipped,

"No. I don't."

I sway slightly on my feet and give her another big grin, voice way too happy to be me,

"That's good. Judging people for disabilities is unacceptable."

She lets out a nervous laugh, the bell rings again, the students in the hall move on. Each footstep is like an earthquake. I can feel my body tipping slightly to the right. It's weird. They look and they move on but the grin doesn't fade, she looks around and ducks her head. I sway a little more and she gives me a sharp look,

"When was the last time you slept, or like ate something?"

I give her a slightly high pitched chuckle,

"I. Me. I. That. Hmm. That is."

I let out another high laugh, the ground seems awfully close up. I point at her, eyebrow arched,

"That, that is good a question, are you a Ravenclaw? Cause your decisive skills, whew, top notch,"

She cocks her head to the side and scans me with her eyes, eyebrows drawn together, eventually, voice soft, she whispers,

"You've lost your mind James Potter."

I stare at her, and let out another laugh. She is hilarious. Me? Loose my mind? Pass out from lack of sleep? Me? I shake my head, lips turning into a lightning grin. That contains a lot of swaggery. My voice sounds farther away then I expected,

"What's wrong with being myself?"

She locks eyes with me. She stares at me, lips parted. I can see that flicker again in her eyes, and she shakes her head, voice almost broken,

"I don't know. I haven't tried it. What's it like?"

I give her a skeptical look, and shake my head, the grin exposing lots of teeth,

"You are acting really dramatic right now. No offense."

She stares at me. And lets out a soft giggle, hand clapping over her mouth, eyes shining slightly,

"Who are you and what the hell have you done to James Potter?"

I stare at her. And the grin slips slightly.

I am me. Why does no one like me for me?

That's weird. Huh.

The eyes are back on me. Moving to class in a blur of clothes and colors, they are judging me.

Their eyes. They don't love me.

They are whispering. They are talking about me.

But they don't know me. Why would they assume they knew me?

"Who is James Potter?"

Lola says something. I can't hear her.

I can see Rose. Rose lying there covered in blood. I can see Dom, her last faint heart beat.

I shake my head and reach to grab the bannister. I hear Frank's voice far away.

It's air.

There is no railing, we are on the stairs and they are moving.

I can feel my weight slipping back.

I can see Lola turn back, head tilted to the side, eyes curious.

Air.

Crap.

I feel my feet slip, the air rushes by me, I can hear students yell.

I am falling. Down and down. I can see each floor go by, I can hear the screams. I am looking up, high above there is a window. I feel a sadness fill me. I forgot to open Roses' window this morning. What if she never smells the flowers again? It'll all be my fault. James' fault.

The air flies by me, Lola stands on the step I just stood on, she watches me fall, her hand reaching for mine. She tilts her head to the side, eyes slightly confused. I don't reach for her. I feel my arms spread to my sides. The staircases rush by, I can see students doing spells to make them move. I feel my finger graze stone. Lola closes her palm. She turns and walks away, I blink. The grin breaks slightly. I can see them watching me, me laugh. Me grow up. I can see Rose. Rose on the bed. I can hear soft words from Fred lips,

"Try being selfless, you'd be surprised how much that can change,"

I blink, hard. I can see Frank grabbing his wand. High above me, he screams my name, eyes filled with a sickened horror. Frank. Selfless. But I am the most important person in my life right? This battle is for me to win, to fight, solo? Right? I can see a lot of things. Lola at the bar. A note with words blurred. Rose on the bed, covered in red. I can see me rushing to her, pulling out my wand, pulling out my wand for Dom. For Dom and Rose. To save their lives and sacrifice my own life for them. I was ready to die for them. Wait. What if I am not the most important person in my life? What if it's not just me, but many, many people. But then I have to save them, I have to keep them safe. What if I am not good enough to save them. To protect them? I can barely protect me from me? What about them? Am I helping or damaging them more? Which one? Neither? Both?

I can hear my laughter in my ears. The ground races towards me, Fred is running, McGonagall bursts out of her classroom. I close my eyes. I am at the hospital bed, next to Rose, the sheets were still red, my voice was soft,

"What's dying like?"

I remember leaning forward, eyes glassy, breath shaking,

"What do you think of just before your heart stops? Is it fast or is it slow? Do you feel any pain? Do you? Because I don't want you to feel any pain, merlin I wish I could feel it for you,"

I can see her thin, new skin, and the scars that were bright and dark, the bruises, the swelling, I remember my hands trembling, my voice going on,

"Did it hurt? A lot?"

I remember the soft sob that escaped broken lips, my voice was just a murmur in time, but I know she could hear me, my voice sang out, like the stars do,

"I am scared Rose. I am so afraid that you won't wake up. You need to wake up. Please."

I can feel my hand desperately finding hers, fingers curling around hers, the shaking only stopped then, when I could feel her steady pulse,

"Your-your existence is enough for me. I'd give anything-anything for you to -just live. Is that too much to ask for?"

I can see my shoulders slumping, my eyes closing, my breath shuddering, I let out a heavy breath,

"I know the life you have is not a good one, and that I could not possibly understand what you've been through, and that you need, you desperately need someone to listen and to care. And I may not be the someone you want but I am here, and I am willing. And I"

I open my eyes. The eyes burn into my flesh. Frank and Fred are casting spells to stop me from falling. The spell latches onto me. But I keep falling, the spells they are using are not working, are not working, why are they not working? I can see Hermione her voice soft,

"You had green eyes. Green eyes James."

I can see Frank screaming my name. I blink. I can see Roses' eyelashes flutter, my voice booms

"I am scared Rose. Because 'because"

I can see McGonagall's worry, I can see Fred shouting spell after spell, not just him, but many people. I can hear the wind whistle in my ears, I am weightless. Suspended in air, I am falling faster and faster, floor after floor passes by, paintings and students and teachers, friends, foes, people who don't care, people who pretend to care. They are looking at you James. Do something cool. Do something outstanding and show them that you are fine. I can hear my soft words, soft words,

"I am scared because I am falling in love with you."

I can remember the way I lifted my head and looked at her, eyes wide, I can see her broken body, I can feel my hand on hers, squeezing, soft, in need, in hope, my voice shakes,

"Thank you. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me you are an orphan, for confiding in me, and opening up to me. I-I am so blessed to have you in my life and I will learn to value you that, to value you ,you, more, better, best."

I can see the eyes. And I let out a soft laugh. Because it's funny. In moments of need, of weakness we tell someone we care about things we believe are true, could be true, because we are desperate, we are desperately in need for survival. And survival involves them. A person. A person whose life is fragile and easily broken and cracked and torn apart. And we make resolutions and we create possibilities, and we lie and we try to convince them with that. But we know in our heart that just saying a few words won't make a difference. And that changing doesn't happen over night. And that falling into the old ways is too easy, too easy to resist, too tempting to ignore. I let the grin form. And I pull on my strength, my need for applause, my greed, my hunger for recognition. For being recognized as great. As glorious.

We die twice. Once when we are buried in the ground and our hearts stop beating and the other time. The second time is the last time someone says our name. To live forever you must make an impression that will never be forgotten. I want to live forever. Not for the fame. Not for the love. But for someone, one day, a little boy like me, to open a history book and see my name and want to be like me when they grow up. Just like how I want to be like my dad when I grow up. There is no bigger pride, no better feeling then someone wanting to be you. It is a high I cannot come down from. A desire than eats me away. Greatness is not found in the good it is found in the tenacious.

I spread out my arms and I let it over come me. I turn in the air and let out a high laugh. I flip through the air and let the spells help me land. My feet hit the ground. I fall into a crouch, my head bowed. I take a breath, I stand, arms spread out and grin up at the eyes. I raise a hand and take a flourished bow.

A second passes. Then two.

And then they come. I can hear the disgusted groans, a few shouts of appreciation. My friends fluent swearing. Next to me, to my right, someone mutters,

"Just another stunt, honestly why am I even surprised? Like someone like him would want to die, with that life? That fame? Please- like I'd care if he did."

I don't let the grin fall. I don't look to see who said it. I don't want to know who said it. I suck in a sharp breath. I look up. Frank stares at me, seeing right through, lips turned down in a slight frown. I can see Fred's head in his hands. I can see Lola. She stares at me, head tilted to the side, our eyes meet, she ducks her head, breaking eye contact, and turns on her heals, walking to class.

Flitwick gives me a sharp look, waddling up to me, voice cold,

"Disturbing class again Mr. Potter? Well, it's not like I can give you detention, you won't even be here tomorrow, but do try to refrain from giving the few people who still care about you heart attacks. I would like my students to be at least alive for class."

I don't look at him. My head is still turned up. My voice is soft when I speak,

"Sorry Professor."

He stops walking away from me and turns back and gives me a little stunned look,

"What was that Potte-James?"

I glance over at him and then back up, eyes glazed. I can feel something wet on my cheek. I take my hand and wipe it away with the back of my thumb, running a hand through my hair, and clear my throat slightly, smiling wide,

"Sarcasm Sir. Sarcasm."

He watches me and shakes his head, voice soft,

"Lying is a sin James. And I know a lie when I see one."

He pauses for a moment. Eyes drifting to my thumb where the soft tear is captured. He opens his mouth to say something else. But shakes his head, turning and walking back into his classroom. I don't say anything. People walk by me. A few give me soft smiles, more give me a disgusted look. One or two stop and give me a high five. They all go to class. I watch the doors close behind them. As soon as the last door shuts I slump against the bannister, hanging my head in my hands. Crushing the tear between my index finger and my thumb.

Fred takes his time walking down the stairs to meet me. Each step heavy, eyes downcast. He doesn't say anything, eventually, voice hard, he says,

"Don't do that ever again."

I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow, I'm surprised to see a tear stain on his cheek. It matches mine. He turns his head away slightly, lips pursed, voice raw,

"You scared the living hell out of me,"

I give him a long look, when I do speak my voice is quiet,

"Sorry."

He glances up at me, and returns my long look,

"What?"

I shake my head,

"Why is everyone so surprised when I apologize for being an ass?"

He laughs,

"If you apologized for every time you've been a jerk it would add up fast,"

I shake my head, laughing softly. He lets out a long breath. Eventually after a while he gives me a concerned look,

"You need to eat and get some sleep."

I shake my head,

"No. I need to get back to the hospital wing."

He sighs, eyes scanning my face,

"Bro, Rose can survive a couple hours without you,"

I shake my head,

"She could wake up, I have to be there when she wakes up,"

He lets out an annoyed huff and shakes his head,

"She won't want to wake up to a swaying corpse,"

I stare at him. His eyes scan my face,

"When's the last time you ate something?"

I shrug,

"This morning,"

He nods, and gives me a slightly pissed look,

"What day is it James?"

I shrug,

"How would I know?"

He lets out an exasperated chuckle, and sighs,

"Fine. Let's go hang in the common room, we can stop by the kitchens on our way,"

I hang back, eyes lost in thought, eyebrows drawn together,

"No. I'll go see her."

He stares at me, eyes digging into skin and then shakes his head, voice heavy,

"Malfoy and Al are with her right now. I popped in before I was told you were throwing yourself off the top floor."

He gives me a slightly quizzical look, voice more tender,

"You didn't-"

He clears his throat,

"You didn't do it on purpose right?"

I feel a chill settle but give him an insane look,

"Course not,"

He gives me a not so convinced look, voice almost worried

"I mean you cut it pretty close, another foot or so and you would have been a pancake."

I let out a soft chuckle at the pancake part and he grins, teeth shining,

"I'm a funny guy right?"

I roll my eyes,

"Moderately, and with the worst timing,"

He lets out a soft laugh. But it fades away. And he gives me a slightly fatherly look,

"I'm Sirius,"

I wiggle my eyebrows at him,

"So am I. Nice to meet you Sirius."

He cringes and curls his lip back, a look of disgust flashing across his face, his voice jokey,

"Your jokes are repulsive, don't-"

I give him an outraged look,

"Don't? Excuse you my middle name is Sirius. That was no joke. I was being Sirius."

He sighs, and shakes his head,

"I can't have a Sirius conversation with you, ever, its hopeless,"

I grin, slightly pushed, slightly natural,

"You should just give up,"

He gives me a sharp look,

"And what? Throw myself off the nearest moving stair case?"

I feel the grin slip. My cheeks hurt. I shake my head, voice jokey,

"You know I've tried that and it doesn't solve your problems. I wouldn't recommend it."

He hits me over the head,

"Oh, you've tried it, have you? God you're more irritating than normal,"

I give him a hurt look, as we begin the walk to the kitchens,

"Am I normally irritating?"

He arches a brow at me, voice joking,

"Do you seriously want me to answer that?"

I give him a slight shove, and he returns it, eyes laughing, going on,

"Remember that time you dyed all of my robes yellow, and Trelawney told me to go sit with the Hufflepuffs?"

I let out a full on laugh, head tilting back,

"Yes. Merlin that was one of my finer moments."

He glowers at me, eyes brooding,

"I swore to never speak to you again."

I arch a brow,

"And here we are,"

I go on, voice teasing,

"it must have something to do with my cascading sexy self,"

He stares at me, and lets out a snicker,

"Who the hell describes themselves as cascading? Is that even a thing?"

I run a hand through my hair,

"I'm James Potter. Everything I do is a thing."

He shakes his head,

"Every sentence leaving your lips is so idiotic it's not even funny,"

I go to tackle him but he rolls away and begins to do an impression of me, voice deepening, and hand going to his hair,

"I'm James Potter. I'm so hot. I cascade in hotness. I think safety is boring, and my one goal in life is to look cool as I throw myself to my death."

I give him an outraged look and he continues,

"Everyone loves me. Everyone wants to be me but me. Ironic isn't it? I can speak eight languages, I learned elvish when I was five. I'm the model human. Actually I am a model, because the world needs hope right now, and my gorgeous abs will totally cure cancer."

I go to kill him and he runs down the hall, I dash after him. We end up bursting into the kitchen, with me still trying to pummel him. Eventually we calm down and stop laughing. He grabs the food and I sit on one of the tables, foot tapping the floor. I stare at him. When I speak my voice is a little vulnerable, which surprises both of us, I softly say,

"Is that what you think of me? That everyone wants to be me but me?"

He glances at me, eyes locking with mine,

"Why? Isn't it true?"

I lower my eyes to the floor. My foot stops tapping. I don't say anything in reply. Eventually I speak. Voice a little broken,

"You got one thing wrong."

His eyes don't leave me, voice quiet,

"What's that?"

I glance up, our eyes meet,

"No one wants to be me. Including me."

He shakes his head,

"That's not true."

I let out a soft, sickly laugh, which lacks humor, he shakes his head, and repeats the sentence,

"It's not true."

I arch a brow,

"Who on earth would want to be me?"

He gives me a small grin,

"I do. I want to be you."

I look slightly taken aback. He watches me, and lets out a breath,

"Not the you that throws yourself off of staircases though. That's a little out there for me, no offense,"

His smile breaks into a grin I shake my head,

"It was by accident."

He gasps, lips curving up into a wide grin,

"What? James Potter can make mistakes? Whew, what has the world come to?"

I shrug,

"Falling in love can do that to a person."

His smile falls. He stares at me, eyes wide,

"Falling in love?"

I nod. He turns his back to me, and bussies himself with the food, voice steady,

"How come I'm not aware you're in love with someone?"

I glance at him,

"Sorry."

He glances back, the grin flashing onto his face, but it doesn't reach his eyes,

"Wow, two apologies in one day, what did I do to deserve such an honor?"

I roll my eyes,

"Forget it."

He chuckles,

"What, the apology? Or the fact that you think you are falling in love?"

I send him a soft glare,

"Both."

He grabs the food and hits me over the head, voice amused,

"You are such a drama queen."

I stand and follow him out of the kitchen, waving to the house elves behind us, I nudge him with my shoulder,

"If I'm anything I'm a drama king,"

He turns, and rolls his eyes, toothy grin shining bright,

"As I said, drama queen."

We exit out of the painting, closing the painting behind us.

Our steps are soft. He suddenly stops and turns back to look at me. His jokey grin has fallen and his eyes are lost in thought, which is rare for him. He doesn't say anything for a moment. And then he clears his throat, voice echoing in the corridor,

"How do you know you love her?"

I cock my head to the side, sticking my hands in my pockets, head ducked, I let out a soft breath,

"I don't know. I guess I just- I want her to be safe, and happy, and I want to hold her, and be there for her, and treasure her.

I pause.

"Maybe it isn't love."

I glance at him and laugh softly,

"But it's something I want to hold onto."

He stares at me, eyes wide, lips parted. I glance up at him and he looks away, hurriedly. I give him a nudge with my shoulder,

"Why do you look so surprised?"

He glances back at me and arches a brow,

"Because you don't say things like that, real things, often, actually scratch that, ever. Not unless you're sure."

I nod slowly and we begin to walk again, climbing up the stairs, eventually I speak up, voice steady but some bigger pain concealed beneath it,

"I'm not sure. That I love her. But I know that I can't lose her. Not to the court, not to death eaters, not to herself."

I give the floor a long stare. And then I laugh, soft at first and then louder, the grin flashes across a tired face, a face that used to strive to be perfect, I can see a tired sadness in Fred's eyes as he watches me laugh. It shouldn't be funny, or maybe it is. The little things. Rose used to always look at the floor when she talked. I wonder when I started to do the same. I wonder when I caught on to her habit. Unintentionally. I shake my head and tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling. Fred shakes his head with me, voice soft,

"You need sleep bro, like no joke, you are starting to scare me."

I glance at him. We've stopped walking again. I let the grin fade slightly, and I can see him rescuing her from beneath train tracks. He saved her life. I stare at him, eyes finding his, I ask, voice sincere, maybe a little curious, but more real. Real. Refreshing.

"Do you love me Fred?"

He stares at me, eyes slightly narrowed, I let out a soft chuckle,

"I mean did you save her because you love me?"

He doesn't move. He stares at me, eyes confused, a little angry. Why a question like that would anger him surprises me, but I don't let it show on my face. He turns and starts walking again, sticking his tongue into the side of his cheek. I can't see his eyes, and it bothers me a little. He ducks his head, and when he does finally speak, his tone is a tad hostile,

"It was the right thing to do. I had nothing to do with you James. Not everything has to do with you."

I stop walking, but he continues each footstep loud as he makes his way onwards, he doesn't glance back. The small smile falls from my lips. And I feel the guard come back up, I close my eyes. The room spins slightly. I replay his words in my mind. "Not everything has to do with you." He is right. Isn't he, annoyingly, surprisingly and rarely right. I feel my teeth grind against each other. He didn't say yes. To loving me. I wonder, if your own friends don't love you then who does? I wonder if you don't love you who does? I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands. And I just listen to his footsteps retreat. I feel the room turn. I can see Rose painted in red. Crimson. I can see Dom dying. I can hear words like I can't remember. I can see Fred's face. "Try being selfless." I can see Frank on the broom, butterbeer gushing down his throat, voice soft, "We know you better than you know you James."

I wince. I need to go check on Rose. She might need me. And even if she doesn't I will be there. To support her, to, for once do what's right. Because she loves me. Why can't it all be just that simple? I love her. She loves me. Game over. Why are there so many variables, so many tangles? I feel my back hit the stairs. It hurts. I'm surprised it hurts. I think I'm passing out. I can't see much. A few stars. A few faces. But when I open my eyes there are no faces. Because no one cares about me. Why would they? I've messed up and messed up and messed up and eventually people start to not see an act but just a bad person. I start to be that bad person. And I am only saying there is a mask because I wish there was one, when that person, this person, me is just me. I feel my head hit the steps ledge. It's a sharp pain, almost rewarding, refreshing. Cool and cold. I don't close my eyes. I sit there looking up at Hogwarts. I have one question.

Who am I?

Lysander sits next to me when I wake up. I am in my old bed at Gryffindor Dorms. I sit up fast and he glances over at me, dropping the book he was reading and tilting his head to the side. He gives me a tentative frown and I arch a brow, looking around me.

"Did you carry me here?"

His frown deepens and he arches a brow, voice surprisingly annoyed,

"No. I dragged you."

I wince. And he lets out a soft chuckle, a chuckle of disappointment, and buries his face in his hands, letting out a sigh, he looks over at me,

"You feeling alright?"

I sit up further and crack my neck, and arch a brow,

"Better."

I give him a quick glance, and then look straight ahead,

"Thanks."

He shakes his head,

"Don't mention it. What are friends for?"

I wince and give him a look,

"They aren't for dragging passed out failures all over a castle."

He shrugs,

"At least I had magic, which did more dragging then I did."

I yawn slightly and then my eyes widen. Rose. I need to go see Rose. I look at him,

"How long was I out for?"

He gives me a long sigh,

"Three days."

I feel my jaw slacken and he lets out a less disappointed laugh and hits me over the head,

"No you idiot, like 13 hours? And no, the Ravenclaw girl hasn't woken up, and no, her condition hasn't changed, and no, you can't see her."

I give him an annoyed look, jaw ticking,

"Who are you to tell me who I can or can't see?"

He runs a hand through his hair, and shrugs,

"I don't know James, who am I? Oh wait I'm your friend you bloody moron."

He rolls his eyes and opens his book again, turning the page, voice softer,

"I haven't seen you in months and the first thing you ask is 'Did you carry me here'? Are you kidding me?"

I give him a sharp look. He looks genuinely upset. Why though? I'm here now, right? Realisation hits me. Its Lysander we are talking about. Lysander who is the 'emotional one' in the group. It pains me that I forgot that. I lean back on the pillows slightly, and clear my throat,

"What should I have said?"

He returns my sharp look,

"Something like how are you Lysander? Are you okay? I missed you. It's nice to see you. Wow you look handsome."

I can see the tiniest smile on his lips at the last bit, but he fixes them back into a frown. We are silent for a moment. Eventually I speak up,

"How are you?"

He rolls his eyes,

"I'm wonderful right until you showed up."

I wince at his improper grammar and correct before even realizing it,

"I was wonderful, was wonderful,"

He snaps the book shut and arches an eyebrow, I let out a soft chuckle,

"Sorry. That was a bad response. Should we try again?"

He lets out a sigh, lips twitching,

"Go practice in the mirror a couple times and then I'm sure you'll get the hang of it."

I roll my eyes,

"I'm not the transparent."

He snorts,

"Please James, you're like a piece of glass."

He turns to look at me, eyes narrowed,

"You expected us to crowd around your passed-out form and give a damn. And when you woke up you wanted me to ask you how you were. But that's not how this is going to work. Because it's pretty obvious how you are. You are realizing that when you leave for months and don't write, or visit, or give a damn YOUR FRIENDS, aka ME, won't give a damn about you when you get back."

I wince at his words. We are silent for a moment. He sighs, a small smile gracing his face,

"Buuttttt, luckily for you I am a sympathetic bloke, and I love you, for some unknown reason. And though lecturing you for a change is fun, it gets boring pretty fast."

I feel a weight lift from my chest and let out a heavy breath, sending him a grin,

"Would beating me up help you out?"

He bites his lip and then he is tackling me and I am running across the room, leaping over beds, he charges after me, grabbing the nearest broom, and I grab Frank's and then we are sparing, fighting with the broom sticks, leaping and jumping and stabbing. And in minutes he is laughing and I can feel something warm, something incredibly warm ingulf me. I'm happy. And my god is it refreshing. More refreshing then the cold stares.

He stabs me in the gut ( I let him) and I let out a scream of anger and I am chasing after him. And that's that. Or maybe it's not that. Maybe he still wants me to ask him if he is okay. And tell him how much he has grown, and how he is much more mature, which would be a lie. But I did not understand that fighting for an hour an half wouldn't fix that. One day I would realize that, it just depends on if that day would be too late. Most of the time I do realize too late. Eventually we were sweaty and laughing and our shirts were soaked and a couple pillows were burst open and the little feathers were dancing in the air and getting in our mouths. We were leaning against the wall still swinging at each other, now with our fists.

I send a blow to his stomach, he groans, muttering,

"Just give up Potter,"

I cock an eyebrow, grinning,

"I can do this all day. Hell I do this all day as a job. I'm paid to do this all day. You can't beat me Scamander."

He growls and slashes towards my face, I trip him, and he goes flying to the floor but catches himself with his hands and jumps back up, staggering slightly,

"You are so bloody annoying."

I let out a soft laugh,

"I am also ridiculously good at everything. I know. It must be sad not being me,"

He shakes his head,

"You obviously haven't grown up over the past months at all."

I grin,

"Maturing is over rated."

He tackles me around the stomach and I laugh, as I pummel his back, we both tip to the floor and I wrap my legs around his head in a choke hold and he splutters, voice cocky,

"For your information I am proud to be a mature human being."

I let out a chuckle,

"Are you also proud of your bad fighting skills?"

He lets out a choked scoff, and taps my leg, I release him and roll to a standing crouch, he plops onto the floor and shakes his head,

"You are so dead James Potter."

I shake my head, voice soft,

"Why does everyone want to kill me all the time?"

He lets out a long laugh,

"I bet it has something to do with your lack of loyalty, lack of charm, lack of selflessness, lack of caring, lack of loving, lack of ability, lack of friendship, lack of humanity."

I shake my head,

"No. It has something to do with me letting them down. Repeatedly until they are used to it."

He cocks an eyebrow,

"Or that."

I give him an annoyed look, he shrugs,

"What? Am I supposed to tell you that you've never let me down? Cause I don't lie. Not to friends."

I feel my lips twitch,

"Friends?"

He gives me a pissed look,

"Friends who are so done with your crap."

I give him a small nod,

"I'll work on it."

He sighs and stands,

"No you won't. You never do. But I still love you bro."

I gag,

"The sap is killing me,"

He chuckles,

"Please James you love hearing I love you. It's like a- a weird high for you. You don't think I know that?"

We are silent for a moment. He extends his hand, welcoming, his voice friendly,

"Bros?"

I take his hand in mine and pull him into a one-armed hug,

"Work in progresses."

He pushes me away,

"Only you, I've already found who I want to be."

I raise an eyebrow,

"And I am who I want to be."

He lets out an ironic laugh as he walks to the showers, calling back,

"We both know that's a lie."

I go check on Rose after a shower and some new clothes. But I can't stay for long, V comes and sits me down. Eyes steady on mine. She said something about how I need to eat. And how she got permission to leave her classes today and tomorrow and stay with Rose. Permission presumably from McGonagall. And like that I am pushed out of the room with lots of yelling and "I LOVE YOU JAMES ses" The horrifying thing is then she proceeded to lock the door. And though I did have my wand on me, and a simple charm would fix that I knew she had been craving over these past days to just sit with Rose and talk to her. Like I do. About everything. That, and she is one of the few people on this planet that cares about me, and wants me to be healthy. And alive. Alive sounds good to me too. Right James? For Rose, right James? James?

"James?"

I sit up on the coach blinking, Frank was calling me. He gives me an odd look and continues.

"Lysander here was telling me its your fault that my pillow is in shreds."

I give Lysander an evil look and shake my head,

"No. No it was ummm. Umm,"

I glance over at John and give him a nudge, he glances at me, and nods along with me, voice playing innocent,

"The rats."

I nod, eyes widening,

"That's right. The rats. The rats. Yep that was, that was what happened, the rats that is, happened, plural not singular,"

Frank sends me a soft glare and I go on, voice convincing,

"No I mean it, Fred has taken a liking to the animal, rats. You know, umm so he, after taking a liking to them, got some, as pets. Named them and everything."

Lysander giggles and Fred, who was absent until now, hits me over the head, voice indignant,

"I leave for fifteen minutes and you guys are already throwing me under the bus?"

Lorcan chuckles. As he takes in what Fred is wearing. Which, by the way is all black. With a bonnet and a veil and everything. I sigh.

Fred walks closer to the group, voice sing song,

"Is Rose gonna live?"

I arch a brow, Fred jumps down onto the coach, grinning, I stare at him.

"Why are you wearing black?"

He glances down and then back up, eyes grinning,

"In preparation."

I give him a non-plussed look. He grins. Eyes meeting mine,

"Why? Do you think the black lace bonnet was too much? I thought it looked great in the mirror."

John shakes his head, eyes closing, Frank winces softly, the Scamander twins face palm. He looks around and sighs. Tongue rolling over teeth.

"Well someone needs to lighten the mood. I'm dying of boredom."

I stare at him. I can see me and Hermione talking. My voice echoes, soft. "Do you ever get bored?"

Her voice is a murmur in the darkest parts of my mind. "Yes. All the time." I close my eyes and rub my hands over my eyes.

I glance at John. Eyeing him up and down.

"Somethings changed."

He sighs. Eyes closing.

"Don't-"

I scrunch my eyes together,

"Where'd your glasses go?"

He grinds his teeth together,

"Fred dared me to do a hand stand."

I arch a brow,

"And-"

He narrows his eyes at me,

"Isn't it self explanatory?"

I lean closer,

"Why? What happened?"

He rolls his eyes,

"I can't do a freaking hand stand. So-"

I grin,

"So?"

He sighs,

"So I fell on my face, and snapped my glasses in two. And Frank is refusing to fix them because he is calling it a learning curve. Whatever the hell that is."

Frank simply clears his throat and turns the page of his Herbology text book, eyes dancing in the fire light.

I sigh. Fred grins. And loops his arm around my shoulder, his eyes shining,

"So, who wants to crash a funeral?"

Five pair of eyes turn to him. He gives us a big grin.

"Thomas is dead. His funeral will be soon. Cause he's dead. That's what happens to dead people. They die. And then they get buried. Or burned. Cause they are dead. Duh."

Frank shakes his head, his voice soft,

"Too soon."

Fred glances at him,

"Too soon?"

I give him a soft shake of the head. He sighs, arching a brow,

"You guys are no fun. We could have done so many beautiful things. Like show up dressed in pink. Or egg the casket. Charm everyone to see a naked dead body. I don't know. I thought they were good ideas."

John lets out a nervous laugh, glancing from me to Fred and then back again. I glance at Fred. He gives me a small smile, eyes sincere,

"It'd make you feel better. Getting revenge. I'm not saying we should kill anyone. But, I mean, tormenting the already dead is not that bad of an idea that it deserves all this weird side way glances and overly exaggerated teeth grinding Lorcan."

I stare at him. He gives me a weird look. Smile falling, head ducking, a nervous chuckle,

"Never mind."

He stands. I stand with him. My arms wrap around him. Giving him a pat on the back. He lets out a little shudder. Eyes wide. I pull away and squeeze his shoulders,

"Thanks. For supporting me in your odd, twisted and totally inhumane way,"

He tilts his head to the side,

"Is that some sort of warped compliment?"

I arch a brow,

"Take it as you want."

He grins, eyes dancing,

"That was a total insult you brick head!"

I duck his punch and roll my eyes,

"You should feel blessed. Your talking to someone the gods created and cried over the flawless perfection of."

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Frank's bleak expression as he begins to right his essay.

Fred scrunches his nose up at me, voice sing-song,

"Wrong."

I give him a long look. He smiles wide,

"You were born and the devil woke up and said, Wow, now I have competition."

I smile wide, and pretend to wipe away a tear,

"I have never heard truer or more beautiful words in my existence. I would like to thank my sponsors for making me the man I am today. Truly, that compliment is the biggest award I have ever had the pleasure of receiving."

I collapse back on the coach, hands resting behind my head, eyes shining. I close them for a moment. And my smile falls. I feel Fred's careful eyes. He knows me. He knows I am broken. This crushed and scared boy. That the jokes are a cover. He is quiet for a moment. And when he speaks again his voice is soft,

"We missed you. Not that you missed us. Or even noticed. But we did."

I crack an eye open. They stare at me. I lower my eyes. His voice is soft as it goes on.

"We didn't have much fun without you encouraging us. We mostly did homework. And the year went by. And it wasn't a fun year. It was a year without memories."

I glance at Frank. He closes the book softly. Eyes instructing. Eyes telling me what to say, how to say it. What tone of voice, the words. I give him a small grateful tilt of the head, he returns it. I smile softly, and stand, pulling out the map from my back pocket.

"Then let's do something incredible."

I can see their eyes glow, lighting up. The common room is stifling. I can feel eyes on me. Following, watching me, I can hear each turn of each page, each soft breath. I let out a shuddering breath and arch a brow, and give them a long look,

"Where to?"

Frank leans back and face palms voice giving up, though I know that this is what he wanted me to do. Because its what the boys need. And maybe also what I need. But his voice lets none of that away, a motherly tone, words exasperated,

"Its past curfew James,"

Fred bites his lower lip,

"So? That's never stopped us before,"

Lorcan lets out a chuckle as Frank groans, he pats Frank on the back and nods his head to me, voice echoing,

"Let's go to the hideout,"

John glances around the common room and nods his head, voice soft

"Some freedom would be nice."

Lysander mumbles, voice soft,

"Freedom? Do you know how many people have been held in captivity their whole lives in concentration camps?"

John sends him an eye roll, Frank clarifies, voice soft,

"Lysander has a point, but remember, he was not talking about physical freedom but mental freedom so you cannot compare them. Unless you want to speak on mental patients and the trials they face in comparison to our measly issues?"

Fred lets out a moan of frustration, giving me a sharp look,

"This, this my friend is what I have been putting up with for the past six months. They are going to drive me insane,"

Frank gives him a long look, voice soft, re-opening the herbology book, head tilted to the right slightly, eyes never leaving the page, words haunting,

"No. You've been gone for most of the year. Whenever we meet up you don't come."

There is an awkward pause. He tilts his head to the side, Fred ducks his head, voice even,

"Well now you know why, you all are freaking annoying,"

I wince, and step between them, getting up, my hand splaying across his chest, I look into Fred's shining green eyes and shake my head, ever so slightly, his jaw ticks. He lets out a breath. John watches the interaction eyes sparking. Frank sits, calm and collected, eyes curious, concerned but nothing more. Fred's eyes meet mine again, his voice switches back to joyful,

"But you're my annoying buggers, and who would I be without you all?"

Frank lets out a slight breath. The tension leaves. Lorcan covers his ears, voice loud,

"THE SAP IS ON. I REPEAT THE SAP IS ON."

John giggles and screams,

"INCOMING!"

And wraps his arms around Lorcan trying to give him a big kiss, he ducks and hits him, he taunts him, lips puckered, I roll my eyes and look back down to the map. Fred passes me his wand, he watches the beautiful old parchment with a pride and an honor that I also have in my eyes.

I can see Rose. In the hospital bed. I should stay. But all I have been doing is staying. And Fred is right we need a release, a moment suspended in the beauty of the now. I nod my head, voice courageous, strong,

"Ready?"

Fred grins, and gives me a bare hug, which I attempt to avoid, John lets out a whoop, and gains a couple interested glances. Lorcan and Lysander stand, wrapping their arms around each other, smiles wide. Frank gives me a small nod. Eyes soft. Caring. Almost brotherly. He reaches a hand to me, and gives me a secret high five behind my back. I return his small nod. He knows that they need me. These boys.

I open the map. My wand tapping, my voice soft,

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Fred grins, teeth shining in the soft fires light.

He leans over me, hand going to pat me on the back, I scoot over a little so he can sit. Lorcan and Lysander sit on the floor, and John sits on the back of the coach, eyes dancing. Frank sits a little way away from the group. Watching on. Eyes smiling soft. He gives me a soft nudge with his foot. My fingers trace the outline of the hallways. The writing is soft, crooked cursive, "Padfoot, Prongs, Moony, Wormtail," My eyes flicker to the hospital wing. Roses' name is etched into the paper, she hasn't moved. Will she ever move? My fingers trace her name, V, Rox and Lucy are by her side, she will be okay without me, just for a short time she will be okay. Frank gives me another nudge. His eyes tell me that she will be okay, that I need this. I let the worry seep into the back of my mind and put a joy and a hope for bliss in front of it. A burrier, mentally, emotionally and physically.

I smile wide,

"If we take the passage from behind the kitchens to the three broom sticks we will only have to avoid six, no seven prefects. Take the risk or nah?"

Fred hits me over the head, soft, his eyes gleaming,

"Do you even have to ask?"

I arch a brow.

"Let's go."

John runs up the stairs and opens the window, making sure our brooms are able to soar out without any difficulty, Frank snatches the bonnet off of Fred's head and throws him some robes, he gives my shoulder a squeeze as he brushes past and grabs a quill for his essay. Lorcan and Lysander grab all of our wands, tossing them to and fro. We all stand. I leap over the couch, and Lysander latches on to Fred's back, hands waving in the air, eyes shining. Frank stays behind for a little. Watching the five boys in front of him laugh. I look back. And tilt my head to the side a little. He gives me a soft smile and stands, walking around the couch, not over, and he gives my hand a soft squeeze before he takes the lead and opens the portrait hole. Flashing us all a rare grin.

The Fat Lady watches us all tumble out in a fit of laughter and purses her lips. I pause and give her a big smirk,

"Why hello there dear, I love your new frame, it suits you very well."

She narrows her eyes,

"Go back inside Mr. Potter."

I bow my head, eyes twinkling,

"I'm afraid we are heading the opposite direction love."

She sighs, eyes closing, voice a murmur,

"Three generations of Potter boys and not one of them ever listened to me."

I grin, giving her a wink,

"Hopefully I am the most memorable of the three?"

She shakes her head, eyes lost in memories,

"No. The worst was the first James, he used to come in late at night covered in leaves and dung, and I swear once or twice he had a rat on his shoulder, or a black dog. And all these scratch marks. At least you don't come in looking like you rolled in the woods."

I smile soft,

"Give me the benefit of the doubt, I still have a couple years to prove you wrong."

She gives me a stern look, I shake my head eyes dancing,

"See you later Lady,"

And with that we are down the corridor. Fred runs in front, hair flying behind him and slipping into his eyes, I loop my arm over his shoulder,

"You need a haircut mate,"

He sticks his leg out and trips me, I stumble and hit him over the head, he lets out a soft laugh, I go on,

"You are starting to look like Uncle Bill."

He shudders, eyes full of horror,

"Ew. God no."

Lorcan smiles wide,

"It's true, none of us have the guts to tell you though. Sorry bro."

He tries to tackle him but he avoids fast, and we all let out a shriek as the stair case begins to move, I grin, voice ringing,

"Who wants to jump with me?"

Fred hits me over the back of the head and Frank winces giving me a stern look. Lysander looks a little worried and John and Lorcan just high five me.

I stick my tongue out at Fred and begin, voice loud in the silence of the night,

"On my count."

He arches a brow.

"One."

We brace ourselves.

"Two."

We yell it all together,

"Three!"

We jump. Tumbling through space for a moment as the stairs move away from the corridor. I can see the floor disappear. I laugh. I haven't laughed in a while. Well, at least not laughed out of hysteria. My cheeks hurt. My hand collides with the edge. I dangle there, feet hanging in space. I look down at the beautiful world that spins beneath me. They all fall onto the corridor laughing. I grin. My eyes shine. Fred steps forward.

I grin.

"See you down there."

He lets out a yell. My fingers unlock. I let go. The wind flies by me, the floors rush by I let out a laugh, it echoes through the halls, the rooms, the empty classrooms. The second time today. And I can practically hear the disappointment in Frank's gaze, but he quickly shuts it down and gives me a tilted, sad smile. I see Fred peer over the edge, I smile up at him, he sticks out his middle finger. I blow him a kiss. He rolls his eyes, jogging to the others as they race down the stairs fast to see who can beat me there. I look down at the ground. My wand slips into my hand. I lean my head back, the wind is soft, summer wind. I let out a chuckle. I missed this. As much as I may hate to admit it. I missed this. Not that I would ever tell them. But I did.

A swish. I race to the ground. A soft spell. A screech to a halt a few feet above the floor, and there I hover. I glance at the stairs, they are almost here, I let go, I hit the floor, rolling till I stand. Head over heels. The impact is hard but the pain is real. Fresh. Wanted. It is liking waking up from a bad dream. My wand is working. The prefect is rounding the corner, in one, two, three steps.

The illusion is already in place, the threads of vision are obscured, rewritten. I cast invisibility charms. I cast silencing charms. I make sure each of us has an individual spell that makes us unseen, unheard, unfelt. A pause. The pair turns the corner. Hufflepuffs. I roll my eyes. If only it could have been someone more exciting, like a Slytherin. Not that I am discriminating against Hufflepuffs or anything. It's just. They aren't that formidable. If you know what I mean.

I glance back, Fred runs at me, green eyes shining, Lorcan is just behind him, Lysander tries to jog but John is now latched to his back, whooping at the top of his lungs. Frank walks behind all of them, arms crossed, book tucked under one arm. He gives me a slight look, making sure I cast the necessary spells. I nod. He nods back. And then I turn on my heels and take off at full speed, running straight at the prefects. They don't flinch, I skip to the side, avoiding them by a hairs breath. I turn behind them and stick my hands up, forming bunny ears, John takes out his muggle camera and snaps a picture, eyes laughing. I stick my tongue out and send him a flash of a smirk, and then I am going down the stairs, leaping down, four and three, I stumble a little and catch myself, Fred flies past me on the bannister, sending me a chaste wink.

I leap after him, we hit the ground running. We reach the wall. I place my hand to it, wand moving fast, Fred hops in place, trying to tell me a joke, but also trying to remember to breathe, every once in a while, all while laughing. I roll my eyes and move as soon as the wall is out of place, the secret passage way was fixed by us in first year. It took us months to clear out all the rubble, and all the spells Filch put on it. But eventually, we cracked it. It goes deep under the ground. I leap into it, my voice soft

"Lumos."

The light cascades over the walls. And there it is. I pause for a moment. There on the wall is their names and a little sentence written beneath each signature.

James Potter – Prongs- You still with me? Until the very end

Sirius Black- Padfoot- If you want to know what a mans like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals

Peter Pettigrew- wormtail I'm not stupid I'm just surrounded by genius

Remus Lupin- Moony- it is the quality of ones convictions that determines success, not the number of followers

I trace James' name with a long finger. Fred pauses, breathless. And gives me a long look, voice laughing,

"What? Do you want to become an Animagus too or just reconsidering your whole life?"

I glance at him and shake my head, voice soft,

"One day we will write our names here, too, so when my son comes down here, he can see it, and he can think one day I want to be that great."

He narrows his eyes at me,

"That's a little narsistic hun,"

I give him a silly look, Frank loops his arm over Fred's shoulder, as Lorcan does the spells to close the door,

"Not a little. A lot. A lot narsistic."

I put my hands up in defense,

"I swear I'm working on it,"

John splutters and raises his eyebrows,

"James you would not be James if you weren't an arrogant jerkazoide."

I give him a disgruntled look, he ruffles my hair,

"But we love you for it."

Lorcan makes gagging sounds, and gives us all a shove along. I laugh, and walk in front, Frank walks beside me. Head down. Lysander and Lorcan start arguing in the back about who is buying the drinks this late, and where we should get the food. Fred and John start racing ahead, running past me and Frank, screaming at the top of their lungs, tripping over stones and tree roots and then swearing tuns, and then running some more.

I glance at Frank. He doesn't look up, his voice is soft when he speaks,

"Is she gonna be okay?"

I feel my smile drop like dust. And I shake my head,

"The doctors said she will be. But they don't know- how much she remembers."

He shakes his head,

"Why take her memories?"

I shrug,

"Probably because she learned something she wasn't supposed to."

He tilts his head back,

"The time between Fred finding her and the train pulling in, its three hours James."

I nod my head,

"I know."

He gives me a sharp look,

"That's a long time."

I nod again,

"I know."

He ducks his head again, eyes closing for a soft second,

"If she doesn't remember you, what will you do?"

I stop walking. Eyes wide. He glances at me. I say nothing. My hands shake.

"She'll remember me."

He tilts his head to the side,

"James there is a possibility, you know, that she won't-"

I clear my throat,

"I know."

He steps closer. Our footsteps are soft, I can't hear them arguing behind us anymore. Lorcan and Lysander are silent, their eyes stay on me. Frank goes on,

"I've never seen you that worried before. You were shaking James."

I look down and bight my cheek,

"I know."

He lets out a soft laugh,

"Do you? Because you were hitting him, your dad. And you were- there was."

I stop walking and give him a sharp look,

"What?"

He glances up. His eyes are steady,

"Never mind."

I give him a weird look,

"There was what?"

He stops as well. The rocks skid underneath our feet. The echoes of Fred and John's laughter are fading up ahead. He gives me a long look.

"You were glowing."

I let out a short laugh.

"What?"

He stares at me,

"Your hands, they were glowing."

I look down at my hands, long fingers forming into fists. Frank watches the silent movement. He rests a hand on my shoulder,

"I just want you to be okay. I want you to know that we know when you aren't. Even if you act like we don't."

I nod my head. Silent. He gives me a slight shoulder squeeze and then continues walking. I stand there, watching his head hang as he goes on. Lorcan gives me a side look as he begins to walk by, turning back, walking backwards he gives me a steady nod. I return it. And he smiles, small at first. And then, he trips and falls to the ground, and I watch the smile crack into a grin. And then we are all running. Feet slamming into dusty ground, Frank complaining about us being too loud, and we drag him with us, as his feet skid over roots and rocks alike.

The grins don't fade. We burst into the Three Broomsticks, just behind the bar, Fred and John are already there, painting slightly, they make sure we are all there, holding the hatch open to wait for Frank who drags his feet listing the number of school rules we are currently breaking and the various punishments. Fred pokes him in the side, eyes dancing in the slight dark, voice a whisper,

"Buzz kill. You would be a great prosecutor. You should go into law."

I grin,

"You could be our personalized lawyer to always be there to get us out of trouble."

Frank looks rather unamused. Eyes tired but I give him a slight nod and he returns it. And though his eyes hold a heavy burden, his lips turn up just the slightest bit every now and then.

The hatch closes with a huge slam and Fred lets out a couple new swear words. I arch a brow at him, he covers his mouth to stop his fit of giggles, his head thrown back. I grin at him. Our eyes don't leave each other's. Lysander hits me over the head, voice a whisper,

"Are we going out the window or the door?"

I bite my lip,

"Window."

We all tip toe towards it, and of course the floor boards groan and creak beneath us making the most possible noise they could. But that's part of the fun of it. So no one moves to put a silencing charm. We like the thrill. The possibility of being caught. The adrenaline rush of the escape. We unlock the window and push it up, all squeezing out in a fit of giggles. Lorcan pauses and reaches for some butter beer, but Frank gives him a stern look, voice careful,

"No stealing you numb nut. Now come on,"

My feet hit the cobblestones. I close my eyes, head tilted up at the stars. I grin. Wide.

I look back at the castle in the distance. I can see the hospital wing, and a soft glow of a light on through that window, the white curtains dance slightly in the breeze far away. V is there. V can take care of her. Let go a little James. Rose will be okay without you.

Fred watches me. Eyes careful. Concealed. He lowers his head, eyes wincing shut. Other than that he gives away nothing. He has never been good at hiding from me. But somehow, with me gone he's gotten better, or maybe I've gotten worse. Probably the first, because it is impossible for me to get worst. Ever. Like ever, ever.

Lysander takes his wand, he whispers the Accio charm and the already prepared unlocked window of our dorm room flies open and our brooms take to the air, rushing towards us. I run to the front, hand reaching up, I snatch it out of the air and spin it around, throwing my legs over the wooden handle, body flattening itself against it. I shoot forward like a bullet. Skimming the ground, shoes dusting cobblestones. Fred lets out a whoop, and I burst up, spinning in an intricate routine, as I flip upside down, hair flapping in the wind. My cheeks are flushed. My eyes glow. Hogwarts is just a glimmer. We all form a huge circle in the sky. Lorcan tilts his head to the side, eyes excited,

"Ready?"

Everyone stares at him, and then they look to me, I take out the enchanted snitch. One of my earlier inventions. It resembles a snitch. But- not exactly. I throw it into the air, I tilt my head back. I can see the love for it in each of our eyes. It's kinda our thing. It leads us to our hide out. A location only I know. It's a portkey. Well a sort of one. If you are close to it, close as in in the air and formed in this formation, and it recognizes it, the formation of body heat around it. It will take you there. I close my eyes. A blink. My stomach flips I grin.

My feet hit the ground. Open. The room is lavish. It is the definition of someone who has too much time on their hands. The walls are covered in maps of the school, and new underground passages we are digging. It has plans for the future, and bucket lists. A list of all the people we love and lists of all the people we hate. The ceiling is a dome, with closed panels that can open up to glass or fresh air, the night sky held above it. The floor is painted by each one of us. Lorcan got a section. Lysander got a section. Fred got a section. Frank got a section. I got a section. John got a section. We add to it at the end of each year. Fred and Frank are the only real artists in the group. Lorcan's has a lot of stick figures and a couple houses. And lots of spells to make it look a little better that it actually is. Eventually we all agreed to put a rug over it. Which he said he would never forgive us for. So he cut the rug up. And the next one. And the next one. I forget when we gave up.

John isn't really an artist either. His floor is covered in a collage like splatter of mementoes from the years, pieces of his textbooks, pages of his favorite books, all spelled into the wooden floor. It isn't particularly easy on the eyes, but it holds value in its own way through the memories it writes.

Lysander's art is all abstract, he sat there for hours crying over his ex-girlfriend and drawing huge black circles in squid ink. We all just sat at a distant and were silent. Not sure if we should laugh or comfort. I think it was Frank who brought the huge thing of ice cream and then we all cried with him. Though Fred and I were actually just laughing our heads off till tears. But I think it still counts.

Fred drew beautiful night skies, and stunning sunrises, I never saw him paint, but when we came back there they would be, and he would flush and not want to talk about it. So we would all silently praise him. Eventually, some time late last year he asked if he could paint me. And knowing my narsistic self I said yes. Though having to sit. AND WASTE FIVE WHOLE DAYS. Was very aggravating. But the picture- it was beautiful, flawed, openly, but beautiful. It looked not like me, but like who I want to be. I've never shown it to anyone. I hung it up on a wall in my room and put some red curtains over it. Sometimes I'll catch my dad gazing at it, arms crossed, eyes wide in a wonder. I never told him that I saw him looking. It seemed like the better thing to do. Not tell him.

Frank's art is different. He sketches. Everything and anything. When he is in class and bored he draws, when he is looking at something interesting he grabs some random piece of paper and draws something. When he sees something that he needs or wants he draws it and already has it. He is dynamic. Intense. There are sketches of all of us all over his floor, some with us in the middle of yelling at him, or crying, or laughing. He captures moments like memories. But just that moment and no more. Fred captures every moment. But no memory. They are different but both incredible.

And then there is my part of the floor. I look down. It is bare. Empty. Not one thing. I can't draw. When Fred brought up this idea just before first year started I winced. And I went home and tried and tried and tried to learn how to draw, thousands of different styles. And I failed. And I got pissed. So I didn't give up. And then one day I was in class and I drew a comic sketch of Trelawney in her underwear. And it was freakin good. Not Trelawney in her underwear, of course, cause she's old, and that's just weird, but the picture. IT was good. And even freakier it moved. It moved. I didn't use any charm, she danced across the page, and did things I didn't draw. Only things I imagined. So I saved the paper. And when no is looking I draw. Soft things. Weird things. And sometimes they move and sometimes they don't. But I don't draw on the floor.

Why they move is beyond me. I can hear the faint echo of Hermione's voice in my mind, "My wonder boy."

I crouch down and run a hand over the blank floor. Fred watches me careful. He crouches with me, eyes soft, loving,

"Hey, want me to put a rug on top of it?"

I nod softly, lips thin. He gives me a sideways smile and walks into the room. I look up. Beautiful. The walls have huge tapestries, family trees. It has an open aired deck, and a deep pool beneath it, shining with soft lights of pixies who dance on the waters. We have little alcoves, and the one to my right is a decorated tribute with the marauders names written at the top, and their picture, all laughing, we bring flowers there, and candles burn. I tilt my head to the side. James Potter smiles. I copy his smile. His eyes twinkle. I roll mine.

I walk past it, down the two steps. Couches litter the room, all deep shades of red, and soft purples, some are grey, and some are brown, the colors match and blend together. A huge fire burns in the middle of the circle of couches. Lysander chose all the furnishing, he is into the whole design thing, and though we used to tease him about it, I honestly thing it is cool. As in interesting.

A grand piano stands in another alcove, music upon music sheets line it, some stacked in high swaying piles around it. And Lorcan runs to it, fingers skimming over the keys and he yells out to us,

"Any song requests idiots?"

John sighs, plopping into a different alcove, where I set up a play station for him. He kept pleading for it, so he could play with his muggle cousin. And then he got hooked. Which also meant I had to give the place idiotic electricity and internet. Which was exhausting to work out, since I don't really understand the mechanics of it. I spent nights pretending I was reading Quidditch Legends Who Matter, and actually learning how to install internet and electricity into a lone building. Let me tell you. John never said thank you. I yelled with Frank about how stupid he is for like two days. And then I got over it. Because honestly, understanding muggle inventions was intensely interesting.

John leans out, voice humming to life,

"How about some muggle music?"

Fred makes a gag sound,

"Hell naww, why are you so bloody interested in their culture, aren't we wizards cool?"

John puffs out his cheeks, and scrunches his nose at Fred,

"Fine, anything then."

Lorcan smirks and grabs one of the sheets he has started composing on and plunks away. I cover my ears, wincing as he starts to sing. Okay, Lorcan can play the piano like a god, and compose like a legend, but singing? It is worse than awful.

We have a wrestling wring as well. Which, surprisingly only Frank really uses. He never told me why he wanted to learn self defense, but I taught him the easier, and less dangerous stuff. And he learned fast. And wanted more. Which sacred me a little. Because Frank is not a violent person. In that regard he reminds me of-. A wince. Of Rose.

I swallow hard. The smile falls. I puff my cheeks out and run a hand through my hair a couple times. It falls back in place. I sigh, eyes squeezing shut. Lysander hits Lorcan over the shoulder, voice a whisper,

"Stop singing idiot, James is having a hard enough time without your wailing."

Lorcan curls his lip up at him, but changes the song to a soft, beautiful intricate tune. I feel my shoulders relax.

John takes the money he brought and goes into a different alcove opening it and dumping the money in. I watch the gold coins clank against the thousands of other gold coins. He gives me a soft look.

John doesn't trust his parents with his money. They keep threatening to kick him out. So half way through summer he asked me if he could move his money here. And I didn't ask questions. It was heavy. And hard on all of us. And sometimes, I forget that every month he gets his allowance, and wants to move it here. He closes it, and slumps against the wall, eyes closing softly, I close my eyes with him. Frank stops and stares at all of us. He gives us a big warm, positive smile,

"Alright you mopers, let's make s'mores,"

My eyes open, I grin. Lysander turns on the old record player. It was Sirius' record player. We all sit on the ground, backs leaning against the couches, Fred sits on my right, Frank on my left, we are all silent for a moment. Fred laughs softly as he burns his finger on the gooey marshmallow. He falls silent. We munch on the gram crackers, the chocolate oozes over fingers.

Lysander's voice is soft in the darkness,

"You staying for finals?"

I swallow hard.

"Yeah."

He nods his head. John arches a brow,

"Are we not going to address the elephant in the room?"

Frank gives him a sharp look,

"Obviously not."

I clear my throat,

"It's okay."

Lorcan gives me a long glance,

"Who is she? To you I mean?"

I lean my head back; Fred's eyes are slightly cold. He ducks his head. Hands relaxing from fists. I don't speak for a moment. Frank cuts in,

"I told you to leave it alone."

I repeat,

"It's okay."

Lorcan shakes his head,

"Other then, then Dom, I've never seen you that scared."

I bite my lip hard. I lean back, the stars glow, the fire is warm. Lysander's voice is a whisper,

"Don't bring up Dom you idgit,"

Lorcan pokes me in the stomach, voice a murmur,

"We can't keep pretending it didn't happen. I mean we haven't even talked about it-"

"OW"

Lysander pinches his arm hard. Lorcan puts his hands up in defense. I let out a little smile. Franks head bows. We don't say anything for a while. And then, softly, Fred speaks,

"I'm sorry. That I didn't go sooner. To her. I mean. At the train platform."

I can't look at him. He sighs softly,

"I didn't think I could save her. I'm not sure I did."

Frank cuts in, voice soft,

"The doctors said she is stable, and fine, so let's not freak out, kay?"

I give him a grateful look. Lorcan repeats his earlier question,

"Who is she? Or am I the only one that missed something?"

Lysander gives him a look, voice soft,

"Merlin, don't make this about you,"

Lorcan's voice is indignant,

"That's not what I meant. I'm just. Well, we normally all know who were gonna date before we ask them out. It's just what we do. We plan it together and make it as freakin extra as possible."

He swallows, standing and ringing his hands, eyes not meeting mine,

"Sorry. Lys right. I'm making it about me."

He glances at me,

"Any song requests?"

I huff,

"Sit you huge sentimental dork."

He grins and plops himself back down, Lysander pinches his cheek, eyes narrowed. I roll my own. We are silent for a moment. Eventually I speak.

"She's important to me."

John gives Fred a look. And then looks down,

"Why?"

I shrug my shoulders, teeth grazing my lip,

"She is. Different. I can't explain it. It's like talking to my mother almost."

Lorcan chokes on his s'more, and Lysander bursts into laughter, hitting the ground with his hand, Frank buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shake softly, John just gives me a small shake of the head. Lorcan takes in a big gulp of air,

"Do you have like a kink we should be worried about?"

I reach over to hit him over the head, but he dodges and sticks his tongue out at me, all covered in chocolate and crumbs, I stuff a marshmallow in his mouth and he pretends to choke, causing Lysander to start the Heimlich maneuver. And we are all laughing as they begin to attack each other, little bits of marshmallow flying everywhere.

Eventually we all calm down and sit back down. I shake my head,

"If you meet her. You'll know what I mean. She's-sweet."

Lorcan arches a brow,

"Sweet?"

I nod. He gives me a long look,

"Not sexy, or like hot, or like long legged?"

I roll my eyes,

"You are so bloody hormonal."

John giggles,

"You both are on your periods."

Frank face palms voice rambling,

"It is physically impossible for a person with male genitalia to bare children, therefore it is impossible for said person to have his time of the month. Even if you are a trans gender, it would still be impossible because men do not have ovaries whose vaginal walls shed the soft cushioned pathway for the egg that is transferred out of a women's body every month. Hence, let us not make a joke that implies that we even understand that pains of being a woman, when we in fact do not. Understood?"

Now we are all the ones face palming and he is the one with the small joyful smile planted on his face. I give him a small grin,

"Yeah okay."

He nods heartily, leaning back against the coach again, shoulders more relaxed. John sighs,

"Anyways, what do you mean by sweet?"

I tilt my head to the side,

"Well she is sexy when she is figuring something out, and she gets this look on her face, like a hunger,"

Lorcan cuts me off, clearing his throat,

"We don't NEED to know the gory details James,"

I go on, voice almost wistful,

"A hunger for knowledge."

I sigh,

"It's a total turn on."

John laughs, head thrown back, eyes on me, voice a murmur,

"What else?"

I close my eyes. I can see her sitting in the library, hair falling over her shoulder, turning the page, eyes darting up to see me flying outside the big window. I can see her soft hand press against the glass, her beautiful eyebrows arched, curiosity, and something else, a distant attraction. She blinks once, twice. The sun shines on her hair, she seems to glow, each strand of hair falls over her shoulders, curving over skin. Her eyes are every color of summer leaves, a slight tint of yellow, a sharp green, a subtle brown, little sparkles of interest and intelligence hidden in the iris. The darkness of the pupil shows the scars that robes and smiles cover. She doesn't acknowledge my gaze. Its second year after all. We didn't even know each other. It was a couple weeks after V introduced her to me. That month. It was one of the months I didn't do much, I just watched, for a change. Wherever I looked she seemed to be.

She turns the page of the book, long fingers tucking hair behind her ear, her lips part, Scorpius comes from behind and wraps his arms around her shoulders, she leans into him, swaying side to side as he sticks a head phone in her ear, they listen to the music together, leaning into each other. She sings along to the lyrics. The book is forgotten. I can see her and Scorpius in the hospital bed he leans over her, sticking the ear bud in her ear, he holds her hand, he has tears in his eyes. He is whispering something in her ear. I am turning and leaving the room. I can see his hand on her cheek. His fingers wrapped around hers. His hand in hers. I can see a fear in his eyes. Albus next to me. Watching them too. I remember Albus' words, soft,

"Let him love her James. She needs him. He is her friend."

I open my eyes. Looking up at the huge sky, and I shake my head, eyes shining. Fred glances up at me, eyes dark, he looks back down at his hands, hanging his head in between his legs. We are all silent for a while. We have nothing to say. Frank breaks the silence, voice a whisper,

"My dad wants me to join the D.A"

I glance up, he doesn't look at anyone, I lean closer,

"What?"

He gives me a long look,

"He… He is retiring from it. Something about the forgotten being in his head. Or something. He was really angry. And desperate. And sad. I didn't know how to react. Or what it even means."

He sucks in his breath, face crumpling, burying it in his hands, head shaking,

"I don't want to be in the D.A. But I also- don't want to let him down. I- I'm so torn. I feel like I am physically getting ripped in half. And, and me and him, we never argue, its, I, crap. I feel scared. I know, merlin I sound like such a whimp."

He bites his lip, eyes glancing up at me, I shake my head, Lorcan leans his head back, eyes wide,

"A war is coming isn't it."

I nod, voice soft,

"It's already here."

He stands, hands balled in fists,

"Then we should fight. It's our turn right? We should fight hard and long. And hurt them. Before they hurt us."

Lysander grins,

"Sit down you idiot."

I let out a hollow laugh,

"He isn't wrong."

He sits down, eyes on me. I am silent for a moment. And when I do speak I can feel the emotions raging underneath the surface,

"Our parents can't protect us forever. It is our turn."

Frank shakes his head, voice hard,

"Turn to what? Die?"

I glance at him, he wipes away a tear quickly, fast, as if it never existed, hands in fists,

"I don't want to die. James? I can't die. I have so much to do."

I look down at my hands. Voice quiet,

"Like what?"

He stares at me,

"Like get a job, and get married, and fall in love. I have a life, a life I want to live. Not fighting. And that doesn't make me a coward it just makes me reasonable."

I tilt my head back, eyes hard,

"What about Dom?"

He physically flinches back, eyes wide. He closes them and breathes out for a minute or so. Fists unfurling. Calming down. When he speaks again he is softer, more normal,

"I don't know."

He shrugs, eyes sad,

"I don't know….."

John wraps an arm around him, patting him on the back, I watch the brotherly action, eyes cold. I close them and tilt my head back. Lysander is the one that goes and speaks again, voice sending a shiver down my spine,

"I don't"

He lets out a breath, stuttering,

"I don't think-I, I don't think I can kill someone…."

We all fall silent. I can see bodies on the floor. Teddy grabbing onto my arm. His voice distant.

"You okay? James? Can you hear me? What was that? We didn't have to go that far? What if they're not breathing? What does that make you?"

A pause.

Lysander goes on,

"I can't become a murderer. Even if it's for the right reasons."

I can see Teddy. His voice echoes,

"A murderer?"

I open my eyes and stare at the stars, eyes shining, I blink hard. The tears don't spill. I suck them in. I don't cry. Crying is weakness. I glance at Lysander, he goes on, voice just a murmur,

"What kind of monster watches the life drain from their eyes?"

He shakes his head, hand in a fist,

"A bad person. A bad person watches that."

I look down at my hands, they tremble, just so slightly, I squeeze them into fists. They don't tremble anymore. Fred does the same thing. Eyes guilty, a blink, he sighs, and shakes his head, Fred's voice is soft, softer than usual,

"We are young. We don't have to fight. And they won't ask us to, because they care about us."

John bites his lip,

"I want to fight."

I give him a curious look, he pokes the fire with a stick, sparks flying,

"If I don't fight I will feel guiltier than if I killed someone."

Fred doesn't say anything in response. Its Frank that speaks up eventually, voice a murmur,

"I'm not going to go in the D.A. Dom wouldn't want us to waste our lives for her. She wasn't that selfish."

I arch a brow, voice hard,

"And what you're doing? Isn't it selfish? You're choosing your personal life over the people that will die without your help."

He shakes his head, voice just a whisper,

"So what? Why does it have to be my responsibility? When I'll end up dying with them?"

I shake my head,

"You won't. Not necessarily."

He gives me a soft look,

"Can you guarantee that?"

I pause. He shrugs, his breath shaking softly,

"Why should we fight? We don't even know how to. And Lys right. We can't kill people."

I stand, jaw ticking,

"The forgotten aren't people."

He arches an eyebrow,

"Do you know that for sure? That they are forgotten 24/7 forever? Or maybe James, you do know, because you know everything right?"

I look away, hands running through my hair. My voice trembles,

"Why does killing someone make you a monster? If its defense, for the good of others?"

Frank stares at me, eyes narrowed, his voice is just a murmur when he speaks again,

"James. You haven't. You've never…. You wouldn't…. Right?"

Fred looks up at me. I open and close my mouth, eyes looking everywhere but him. He furrows his brow, hands trembling,

"No. Tell me you haven't. James?"

I back up a step, Fred looks from me to Frank, who is now standing. He stands and steps between us, taking one of my hands in his and giving it a squeeze, his voice is soft, slightly threatening,

"Is this an interrogation? Of course James has never killed someone. He is really overwhelmed right now. He's scared that the girl he is falling in love with might by dying, you get that right Frank? You've been through that. With Dom. So don't pull that crap on him. He doesn't need your doubt right now."

Frank lets out a breath, and pulls me into a hug, his heart racing. Eyes squeezed shut,

"Sorry. Sorry, merlin, I don't know what came over me. Of course you wouldn't… You wouldn't do something like that…"

I loop an arm around him and look over his shoulder at Fred who gives me a small nod. Eyes shining. I mouth, "Thank you."

We all plop back down. Eventually John asks the question they all want an answer too,

"Did the Ravenclaw girl kill Thomas?"

I close my eyes, head tilted back and shake my head,

"No. She wouldn't… She didn't…"

Lysander lets out a heavy breath,

"Then who did?"

I open my eyes and look at him, I can see a tint of fear in his eyes, I look back up, and bite my lip,

"I have to find out. So she is proven innocent."

Frank has his eyes squeezed shut. Frank and I never argue, never fight, we have a huge amount of respect for each other. But. But crap. His dad is Neville Longbottom. And he was removed from the D.A, just like my dad. I wince at that. Because he is an orphan.

Lorcan's voice cuts into my thoughts,

"What if she did do it? Would you still love her?"

I stare at the stars and roll the question over in my head. Would I? Yes. I would. But that doesn't sound very healthy. I bite the inside of my cheek and nod. Lysander sighs and closes his eyes,

"How on earth will she survive court?"

I don't say anything. He goes on, voice shaking,

"My dad went to court once, as a witness for a crime. What they did to the person-it-it-what he told me about it- was, well was not good."

John's voice is soft,

"What did he tell you?"

Lys glances at me and then back to John, voice softer as he speaks,

"They plow through their memories, they use potions on them to make them the truth, they have dementors in the room, and, and my dad said sometimes you don't even need to go to Azkaban to be crazy, sometimes it happens before then, in that room."

I close my eyes. I can feel a fear writhe in my stomach. None of us speak for a long time, and Lorcan goes to the piano and begins to play a sad song, each note hanging desperately in the air, like oxygen.

And so the night changes from the sour mood to something happier. We throw ourselves off of the balcony doing crazy jumps to the pool. Eventually John goes back to the game room, and Lorcan and Lysander climb on the roof to look at stars through a huge telescope, I watched them grab a bottle of fire whiskey on their way up from the kitchen, and made sure to do safety spells all around the roof top, just in case anything went wrong.

Frank is silent, he is staring at a letter his dad wrote him. Head titled back. Flames turning to embers. Eventually he goes to his favorite room. The green house. He waters the plants slowly, wiping away tears he is too ashamed to cry in front of us, he tends to the unique plants, talking to each one softly. He states them by name, for of course he named each individual one. His hands drift over the leaves and the petals. Eyes lost in a guilt and a heart ache I thank the heavens I don't know. I lean on the door frame of the green house and watch him care for the Lilies. His voice is just a murmur but I can make out some faint words,

"Dom you wouldn't have liked this year very much, we were all pretty disconnected, and broken and scared. I'm sorry if I let you down by not fighting for you. I don't think I am brave enough. The stupid hat said Hufflepuff but I didn't want Hufflepuff. The beautiful Veela girl wasn't in Hufflepuff. She was in Gryffindor."

I lean away, and let out a sigh, I walk to the game room and look at the asleep John. I take the game counsel out of his hands and place it down. I turn off the games and screens. I do a cooling spell and grab him some pillows, I place a blanket on top of him. He mumbles something about Fortnite, I roll my eyes. And close the door behind me.

I walk out onto the balcony and peer over the edge, Fred lies on the water, floating on his back, eyes closed. I grin, and strip down to my boxers, discarding the clothes onto the ground and instead of leaping down I swing my legs over the rail and climb down the wall, jumping to a crouch beside the pool. His eyes open in surprise and he sends me a soft smile. Eyes distant. My voice is a murmur,

"Trying to drown your sorrows in overly chlorinated water? Was it that bad of a day?"

He arches a brow at me, and grins. It doesn't reach his eyes, he splashes me, I chuckle and hop into the water, rolling my shoulders back and stretching. I wipe the water from my face. Eyes shining in the darkness. We don't say anything for some time. Finally, he speaks up, voice soft,

"Why can't you tell the other guys you've killed people?"

I glance at him, smile dropping, I bite my lip,

"Because of how Frank reacted."

He shakes his head, voice a murmur,

"They want to know you James. They do."

I arch a brow,

"Do you want to know me?"

He splashes me again, grinning,

"I do know you stupid."

I grin, swimming up to him,

"And?"

He giggles,

"And what?"

I give him a sly grin,

"Do you like me?"

His smile dips. He stares at me. We are a couple feet apart. He ducks his head, voice a murmur,

"Yeah James. I like you. A lot."

I grin and slap him over the head, he stumbles slightly, and doesn't look up, my voice is amused,

"You sound like your confessing long lasting feelings or something, chill bro, as long as you don't hate me its fine."

He glances up at me, eyes distant again, voice soft,

"Well, do you, do you like me?"

I lean back on my back, voice soft in the darkness,

"I love you. You're my best mate."

He leans back on his back too, so we are both floating. His voice is quiet,

"Is that why you came to me, after you killed that guy, by accident, in summer?"

I am silent for a while and nod my head. He sends me a side glance,

"You were really freaked out."

I nod my head. I think for a moment and then speak again,

"You weren't though. Freaked out. At all."

He sends me a look, I go on,

"Why weren't you freaked out?"

He looks up at the night sky,

"I had to be strong for you."

I glance at him,

"Am I a bad person?"

He grins at me, the serious moment gone, he laughs, head tilted back,

"You're a bad egg James."

I reach over and dunk him, he splutters, and comes up laughing, hands wrapping around his sides, I grin. I let out a long sigh, cheeks pulled up,

"Any girls that have caught your interest?"

He rolls his eyes, punching my arm,

"What if I told you I was gay."

I give him a surprised look and take his hand in mine,

"Really?"

He stares at me for a moment, and then giggles, pushing my hand away and making a disgusted face,

"Ew, god no. There is this one girl, she asked me out."

I bump his shoulder,

"Who?"

He gives me an awkward look,

"You probably don't know her-"

I arch a brow,

"Try me."

He winces as he says it,

"Nelly Goyle."

I make a gagging sound, spluttering,

"YOU MEAN THE SLYTHERIN HOT CHICK THAT IS TOTALLY WACK?"

He nods, I fall back in the water, laughing my head off, he clears his throat, I arch a brow,

"Are you serious right now?"

He winces and ducks his head, I choke down my laughter, voice softer,

"No, no no, that's great, she's, wow, she's something alright."

He glances up at me, eyes dancing and keels over in a fit of giggles, I hit him over the head,

"I KNEW you were pulling my leg you bastard!"

He wheezes, eyes watering,

"You should have seen your face, merlin, you looked constipated."

I try to dunk him again and the battle begins, as we pull at each other, laughing our heads off. Eventually we relax on the pools edge, legs dangling in the water. We are silent for a moment, catching our breaths. He sends me a grin,

"Remember when you saved my life? We were in L.A, and I didn't know what cross walks were. So I walked across the street in moving traffic, and you apparated and grabbed me?"

I nod my head, flexing my arms, voice arrogant,

"One of my finer moments,"

He tilts his head to the side,

"We were eight James. How the hell did you know how to apparate when you were eight?"

I clear my throat, tilting my head back,

"I'm gifted. I've been telling you this for years,"

I flash him a grin, he rolls his eyes,

"Uhuh. Sure. Whatever you say James."

I punch his shoulder, he doesn't even move, I give him a stunned look,

"Have you been working out?"

He wiggles his eyebrows at me,

"Why? Have I gotten sexier? Where? How? When?"

I let out a huff,

"You have!"

He nods his head. I speak again, soft,

"I heard from McGonagall that she might promote you to captain."

He shakes his head quickly, opening his mouth to speak, I go on, cutting him off,

"I think you should take it. You'd be good at it. Everyone really respects you Fred. You deserve it, more than I ever did."

He stares at me. And lowers his head, voice a murmur,

"Does that mean you won't ever come back to Hogwarts?"

I shrug,

"I don't know. Anything could happen."

He shakes his head, voice slightly angry,

"You have to come back. I can't be you James. Not on the quidditch team and not in our friend group."

I stare at him, his eyes shine,

"I tried it. Tried filling the gap, and you know what? I suck at it. I don't have enough energy to be smiles and chuckles all the time. I can't juggle being in quidditch and taking care of the losers we call our friends."

I sigh, voice a whisper,

"I'm the biggest loser of them all, aren't I?"

He nods solemnly, I scoff and push him into the water, he comes up laughing, cheeks split in a big grin. He arches a brow, my voice is indignant,

"That's the part where you tell me how great I am and boost my self-esteem,"

He shakes his head,

"Trust me, your self-esteem does not need boosting. If anything, it needs draining."

I splash water at him, he ducks, and climes out of the pool, poking my arm,

"But seriously mate, the amount of girls, and some guys that come up and ask me where you went, it's countless and oh so annoying."

He grins,

"I should make them pay for information. I could make a lot of money like that."

I grin at him,

"As long as you split the funds 5o/5o with me,"

He shoves my arm,

"Ha, funny, I'd be the one doing all the work,"

I dodge, a hit over the head from him and smile at him, eyes dancing,

"Ahh, but it's me you'd be talking about."

An hour passes and everyone is asleep, passed out on the coaches. I watch them. Frank sits in the corner, he watches me watch them. I meet his eyes as I grab my stuff, going to leave. He just watches me. And nods, soft. He won't ask me to stay. He knows I won't. He simply raises a hand and waves goodbye, small. I duck my head. The door is heavy as it opens. I don't look back. His eyes stay on my back as it creaks shut behind me.

My broom's wood is heavy, I push off, the flight is long. I enjoy the freedom of the breeze in my hair. I come to a stop in the window frame of the hospital wing. The window is open, the light is off. V is asleep on the bed, curled up next to Rose. I watch them. I let a small relaxed smile rest on my face. I open my bag and grab some food that Fred packed for me from it. I collapse against the familiar white wall and close my eyes. It tastes good, better than I expected. V stirs awake after a little and wanders over to me, ruffling my hair. She stretches and whispers something about checking on Roxy and Lucy, I just nod as she leaves the room, the door closing behind her. Soft.

I look back at Rose. And I wait.

The night is dark and deep. My head is bowed. The light breeze is soft as it grazes over skin. There is another sound. Comforting. I open my eyes.

I hear a soft breath. And one word. One soft word.

"James?"

I look up. Rose stands in front of me, her eyes are wide, her lips are parted, her hair cascades over her shoulders. I scramble to my feet. We stand. Face to face. She has soft tears in her eyes. She shakes her head. I can think of nothing to say. Her whole body trembles. Her lips barely move as she speaks,

"James- I think- I think something horrible happened."

She closes her eyes and collapses to her knees, her white night gown puddles around her, golden hair falling over shoulders and dusting the floor. I can see her back shake ever so slightly. Her voice is distant,

"I… I think I died James, please, I think, I don't, I don't understand,"

I feel my own eyes close. I slowly bend down, crouching beside her, she looks up at me, through tangled hair. My voice is as quiet as hers,

"Neither do I."

She reaches for me, I can see her hands tremble. I open my arms and she crawls in, leaning into me, sobs wrack her body. Her hands loop around me. I let out a breath. She is solid. She is real. I can feel myself moving, fast, desperate. I pull her to me, my hands buried in her long, soft hair. She lets out a soft scream. Of terror, of fear of the future. Of everything. We cradle each other in broken arms, with broken wings.

Her hands are fists and she hits my back over and over, her sobs loud wails of desperation. Her voice is tired, just the smallest whisper.

"I didn't do it. James. Please. I didn't do it. He. Thomas. I remember. I can. I."

I pull away and hold her at arms length, my eyes on hers,

"What do you remember?"

She shakes her head, eyes never leaving mine,

"Too much. Too much. I remember. I was. I got off the train. And Thomas came at me. He. He was drunk. Really drunk. And he.. He. I was scared. I was so scared. And I, I cast the cruciatus spell, on him, at him. But he wouldn't stop. Oh god James. I think. I think, I… But I wouldn't. I wouldn't."

She reels away from me, eyes wide, the whites flaring, like a scared wild animal. And she stumbles back, back hitting the floor. She extends her hands in front of her. And stares at them. In horror. In utter horror. I know the horror on her face. I am back in Fred's arms. After the D.A mission. There is blood, blood sticked to dry skin. And I am screaming. Screaming out of fear of myself. Because I killed someone.

Her lower lip trembles. And then she is gagging, and her body is repulsed by herself and I watch the hot bile rise in her throat and spill out, spraying across the floor. She skitters away from it, I can see her chest rise and fall in desperate, hopeless breaths. And then she is reaching for the towel and water next to the hospital bed and she is scrubbing at her skin, hard, trying to erase a sin.

I walk towards her and she backs away, voice loud in the still,

"No. No James don't come near me. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not a good person. Please. I. I can't. I wouldn't."

I sit down across from her. Her teeth chatter, she tugs at her hair, she bites at her nails, she scrubs at clean skin until it is raw. I wait. Her breathing doesn't slow. Her sobs are heart breaking. Her voice is a mutter, a ramble of odd words tugged into a string of lost hope and self hatred.

"He's dead. Isn't he? Thomas is dead. What did I do? James? What did I do?"

She stares at me, I can see her heart in her eyes, shining at me. She stands, each step is shaky, jagged, she tugs at her fingers, she scratches at her neck, she bites her lip until a soft stream of red blood shines. She passes, her steps are quick, hurried, anxious. She looks at me. Her eyes are dull. Dulled with hope gone. Dreams turned to smoke.

Eventually she speaks. Words full of a power, a heated and rising power, strong,

"I'll turn myself in."

She nods her head, the tears have turned her eyes red. She turns to me,

"I'll go through the system of justice. Like I should."

I shake my head and stand with her. I walk to the window and she follows me. I can see the beginning of the sun rise. The golden light hits the sky. My voice is just a whisper,

"You didn't do it."

She stares at me, eyes wide,

"What?"

I bite my lip. I am about to tell her what I believe is true. But she needs it. Because I wish. I wish Fred had told me that I didn't do it. Because I know what its like. Because I can't lose her. Because I know she won't survive Azkaban. My voice is honest. I turn to her. Eyes sad.

"Someone manipulated your memory."

Her lips part. She doesn't wipe away the glassy tears. Her voice trembles.

"You could be wrong."

I nod my head. Voice soft.

"I could be. But I'm not."

She steps away from me, her face crumbling,

"But you could be."

I step closer. I slowly take my hand and brush away the tears, I search her eyes,

"I believe in you Rose BlackThorne."

We hold onto each others gaze. I feel my lips turn up, just a little, and I step closer, pressing my forehead to hers. I can feel her shudder. Her soft breath. Her hair dances in the breeze of the summer day, of the new dawn. I whisper against her skin,

"You know what else?"

She shakes her head, I smile and pull away so that our eyes can meet. My voice is tender, loving, caring,

"I know you. And you wouldn't do something like that."

She closes her eyes, her shoulders sag and she murmurs, voice distant,

"I wouldn't. I would never…"

She opens her eyes and turns away looking out at the grounds. She tilts her head to the side. Eyes searching, for something, someone. Her voice is inquisitive, a little scared, a little stronger. She raises her chin to look up at me,

"If I didn't kill him James, then who did?"

I stare at her. I swallow hard. My gaze never leaving hers.

"What do you remember?"

Her eyes close. Delicate. Long eyelashes brush high check bones. She rubs her temple, leaning into her finger. I can see her frustration, her fear. Her doubt in herself. She opens them. And her voice is hardened,

"I remember Azkaban."

My heart skips a beat.

"What?"

She stares at me. And then looks away.

"It was like I was there. In the cell. And. And there was a visitor. A man. He had. I couldn't see his face. But I saw his eyes."

She turns to me, biting her lip,

"His eyes were green. James. Green eyes."

I step back,

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She stares at me. Head cocked to the side. And then she looks away. Eyes dipping to the sunlight.

"Nothing. It means nothing at all."

We are silent. Eventually I speak. Voice quiet. As tender as I can make it. My words are harsh though.

"They are calling you to court."

She doesn't look away from the sun. She nods her head. Voice steady.

"I know."

I bite my lip,

"Are you- are you going to be okay?"

She looks at me, eyes shining,

"No. I am not going to be okay."

I grab onto her hand,

"You won't go to jail. I mean it."

She looks back out at the world below us. Her voice is colder than before,

"And if I do? Go to jail?"

I wince at her words.

"You won't."

She turns away from me. Her eyes don't meet mine.

"How long do I have till they come?"

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"24 hours."

She goes to nod but the door bursts open. I look up. Aurors. And beside them is a guilty Madame Pomphrey. Her jaw goes slack. I reach for her. But they stand in front of me. Wands raised. Each step they take is an earth quake. I let out a scream. Reaching for my wand. Rose lets out a scream, words harsh,

"JAMES STOP."

Her chest rises and falls, her eyes are wide,

"It'll make it worse. It will only make it worse."

I let out a high laugh, surging forward. The aurors grab onto each arm. Pulling her back. She walks with them. Head hung. I run after her. Madame Pomphrey grabs onto my sleeve, shaking her head, voice soft,

"Let her go James."

I tare my arm out her grasp, I am running down the stairs. Everyone is watching. Rose does not struggle. She walks with them. Head raised. Eyes straight ahead. I let out a scream. V is there. In a blur. She is running after me. Grabbing onto me. I tare her off. She grips my arm. Turning me to face her. Eyes glaring into mine. Voice brutal.

"STOP MAKING THIS ABOUT YOU JAMES. YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE THAT LOVES HER."

She steps back from me. Turning to look after Rose. The great doors are thrown open. I can see chains being clasped onto her wrists and ankles. I let out a yell. My wand is useless. My hands are moving. The air turns cold. My eyes shine golden. My veins run with it. My world drowns in it. Magic. I arch a brow. My hands are twisting. The power is addictive. The bannister crumbles, stone turning to rubble, I am manipulating it. I can see eyes on me. Terrified. I raise my chin. They will die. They must die. How dare they touch her? How dare they take her? I wasn't ready. She isn't guilty. Please. PLEASE.

Then Rose looks back. Eyes finding mine. She shakes her head. Eyes wide. I can see a single soft clear tear trace her cheek. They push her forward, she stumbles, catching herself before she hits the floor. They lock hands with her. Grabbing her wand. She finds V's eyes in the crowd and she says something. Something broken. But I can hear it. Her words are quiet in the loud of the world.

"Protect James. They are coming for him. Like they came for Dom. Protect him V."

I feel me surge forward. My hand reaching for her. A blink. They are apparating. She is turning to smoke. I can see her fingers reaching for mine. Her mouth opens, as if she had one last thing to say.

Words. One word.

"I lo-"

The smoke rises around them in a whirlpool, I watch them collapse on each other. Apparating away.. Leaving me. Her fingers claw at air. Chains shine on her wrist, tight, restricting. I am running, flying through the air. Another blink. Smoke. Gone.

I fall to my knees. The floor shudders. There is something wrong with me. I can see V collapse against the wall, hand covering her mouth as she screams. Teddy is there. He is shouting something to me. I look down. It's my hands.

My veins. My veins are shining. They are shining golden.


	27. Framed in jail, framed in insanity

Chapter 27: Framed in jail, framed in murder, framed in insanity

~Rose's POV~

Fear. Terror. Captivity.

The scribbles are formed on clean pages. White paper stained with dark ink. It swirls over paper, over quill tip, and under feather. It stains fingers a dark, brooding color.

The droplet of ink clings to skin. Desperate. My lips slip open. Parted. A tear like death slips down a pale tear stained cheek. It traces soft skin. It soaks into pours. The dark light shines in the room. Dark eyes watch the innocent girl scribble. Possessed. Lost. Asleep. In such a deep, gone sleep. Almost dead except for the rise and fall of her chest. Her fingers curve around the quill, the feather brushes against her wrist.

Her lashes are long, dusted with the moisture of pain. Her fingernails are cracked, dented. She won't stop writing.

There is something incredible about the girl. Something so very different. The boy in the cell next to her leans forward. The girl sitting to her other side tilts her head to the side. Lazily opening an eye. And so they watch her. The new prisoner. And they think what did such a little girl do to end up in this hell?

And she wonders too. I wonder too. For I am her. I am the little girl that can't stop writing. I am the other prisoner. New. Exposed. Vulnerable. Scared.

I curl up. My hands are wrapped around me. There is a quill in my hand. I'm writing. Over and over. The paper is blurred with ink. Dark droplets merging onto paper. I am writing and writing. My fingers shake. My teeth chatter.

I can't open my eyes. My lips are just a whisper, a murmur. And they say it over and over.

Wake up.

Wake up.

Wake up.

And I write it. Over and over. It is a plea. It is a need. It is a want.

My memory is playing tricks on me. Memories that haven't happened yet. Something is wrong with me. I can feel hands. Hands that haven't come for me yet. Eyes. Eyes I haven't met yet. People I don't know. People I haven't known yet. People I will never know. Scattered in the wind are faces I will never meet.

What is insanity?

Not having control of your mind.

Where do I even start? With surviving? With trying to live? With being a murderer? With killing someone? With doubting myself? With jail? With the trial? The trial that hasn't come yet?

One day. I will look back and they will ask me what was the worst part?

Me. I was the worst part.

They will say was it hard? Was it hard for you Rose?

They will ask me why I don't say much. Why I have the habit of sleeping holding myself. Eyes cracked slightly open.

They will never understand. No one ever does. What it was like.

And all the memories, and all the dreams, and all the hopes and all the youth I could have had. Gone.

Already gone.

They apologize. They say they wish it was them. But they do not wish it was them. Because they wouldn't have made it through.

It's hard. The ground is cold. The nightmares are bad. My fingers shake. My eyes can't seem to close. Can't seem to open.

You grow used to it. The cold. The cold is horrible. I used to love the cold. The snow. The freezing chill settling in your bones. I don't hate the cold now. I just don't acknowledge it.

I feel like I wouldn't like me if I met me. Like this. A killer.

The first day was the worst. They took me to the doctors after they took me from Hogwarts. To make sure I was okay. The doctor looked me in the eyes. Voice just a murmur when the guards weren't looking. His voice soft.

"Do you have dreams Rose?"

I stared at him. He sighed, eyes glancing around the room, mouth opening, and then closing,

"Your brain. Its developed weirdly. It's. Well its more advanced then what I have seen before."

I remember reaching for him, as if I had something big to say. The guards stepped between us. Eyes cold. Heads shaking. His eyes followed me out of the room. I felt the potion slip down my throat. Thick, hot, slimy. I can feel my eyes dripping shut. Drowsy. Tired. My bones turning to jelly. I can feel someone using a spell to make me float along side the guards.

A dream. Real. It seems real. But it can't be right?

The mirror is foggy. The eyes are green. They shine with a hidden, sharp and binding intelligence. It cuts through the glass it stares back at me. Eyes. Shining. Gleaming with a power. A hunger. I raise my chin he raises his.

He leans forward. The table is cold. His hand ticks against the wall. He grins, lips tilting up. His tongue slips over red teeth.

His finger hooks under my chin. I look up. I can't see right. The walls are white. There are chains on my arms and legs. His eyes dig into mine. He leans closer. The breath is hot. It burns cold skin. He doesn't look away.

His voice is a whisper,

"Wake up Rose."

I let out a scream. I am ripping my chin from his grip. I am lunging at him, hands clawing at his face, he doesn't back away. He lets my fingernails sink into his skin. He tilts his head to the side. Voice echoing.

"Violence is a disease Rose. Violence will spread."

I cover my ears. My fingernails drip crimson. I am pounding my fists into my skin. I am hitting myself. I am hiding from hell. I can feel tears streaming down my face. He is not surprised. I reel back. The chair falls over. I hit the floor. The chains are hot. His breath clouds the room with a darkness. The darkness consumes.

A blink.

The walls are white. The world is a swirl of darkness. The table is metal. Its cold. I am not scared. I am not afraid. I am a state far past that. My hands are trembling. The tears make the world a blurry hell. I am caught in it. I am drowning in it. I cannot escape. That scares me. That frightens me.

I remember it. Disaster. Horror. My eyes dip shut. The memory hits me hard.

The train shutters to a stop. Groaning. The lights are soft outside of the windows. I can see the castle far away. Hope is in those castle walls. If only I could make it there. If only it was that easy. My hand shakes. I stand. My bag drops to the ground. Boom. I hear the clink of my wand. I open the compartment door. I go to walk out. The bag stays behind. The wand on the floor. Tip pointing out. I stop. I close my eyes and I can feel it. They are in my mind. The Forgotten, they are telling me to keep walking, keep walking, keep walking.

One step. A pause. I open my eyes. They shine in the pitchy darkness. I look out the window, the light snuffs out. A blink. The darkness descends. I feel a chill settle in the air. The hair on the back of my neck rises. My breath catches. Another step. I can see the stairs down to the platform. I can see the carriages, the Thestrals. I close my eyes, a blink, I can see blood, dark, dark blood. Another step.

The compartment door behind me slowly closes, click. It locks behind me. I freeze. And slowly, I turn around, the darkness is blinding. The moon has left the skies. The clouds are heavy. I can feel the wind rattle my bones. The glass of the door is see through. I can see my bag. The tip of my wand.

I can hear Fred. I can hear him. His voice echoes.

"Don't forget."

Forget what? The pain in my mind is killing me, a hand goes to my temple, I blink, there is no bag on the ground, no wand. I tilt my head to the side. What? I blink again; the darkness is telling me things.

I turn around. And then I feel it, a hand, it creeps up my back, a talon runs across my spine, curling over my skin, on my shoulder, the skin is cold, the talons are long, they loop over my arm. The weight is heavy. I hear the whistle. It whirls by me. A wince. A breath. I turn around again, eyes wide. Nothing. No one. And my bag. It lies on the ground. With no wand.

I go back, one step, two step, three step. My hand latches onto the compartment door, its cold. Covered in frost. But its April. The frost has melted. Something is very wrong. Something is coming. I can feel it in my bones. The train whistle blares, it echoes in the silence, I open the door, it creaks. It shutters. I reach for the bag. And then I stop. Eyes calculating. And I reach for where the wand should be, where it fell, and my hand grabs onto it, but it is not there, but it is. It is invisible, it is an allusion. And what does that mean?

A blink. I pick it up, another blink it is in my hand, it is real, it is solid. My voice is soft,

"Lumos."

The light causes an eerie aura, and I walk, one foot before the other. The stairs are cold; the railing is made of ice. It cracks beneath my hot fingers. I step down.

The steps down to the train are cold. The ground is made of pavement. Cement. The trains wheels screech to a halt.

Someone grabs onto my arm. A man. No. A boy. Over grown. Its dark. I am turning. Thomas. His breath is warm on hot skin. His hands are desperate. Searching. Finding. I hate it. I push him away. He is drunk. The alcohol makes the bile hot in my throat.

He is coming at me. His words are blurred. A blur. All of it. It isn't clear. No detail stands out. Nothing is defined. Nothing is real. His hands are claws. His fingernails are talons. His skin is bruising. His teeth are caught on clothing.

I am not physically strong. But I have my wand. I am strong in other ways. I am desperate. The police man is sharp in my mind. I remember him. His pen ticking against the table. Him saying I killed my foster family. There are tears. They are sharp. They are bitter.

His hands tare clothing. Defenseless. My wand rolls across the pavement. My back hits the floor. I am crawling. He is ripping my shoes off. His hands are clawing at flesh. Addicted. The wood is cool in my hands. Survival. Its hot. Its bitter. It roars in my veins.

Dom. Dom is dead. My foster family. Dead. Hope. Future. Dead.

He flips me over. His legs are pinning my down. He is reaching for my hands. His fingers cover my mouth. I am screaming. When did I start screaming? His hands hold me down. They trap me. His lips are dangerously close. I bite down on his fingers. I can taste skin. Callused. But no blood.

Defenseless. Weak. Broken.

There is something I am forgetting.

The wand is moving. My lips let the word slip.

"CRUCIO"

He flies back. Freedom. Safety. Temporary. I scramble up, I am running, my feet hit the ground. My robes are in tatters. I can see the castle. The stars are too bright. The moon is full. My feet find the path. I can see Thestrals peering at me from the forests. I can hear a faint train whistle in the back of my mind.

But that doesn't make sense. The train leaves every three hours. Its only been ten minutes. Why is the whistle going? Something isn't right.

A hand on my arm. I can feel fingernails dig into flesh. Cut. Blood. The sent is sharp. I am begging. Words tumbling from soft lips. Hands pounding into flesh. I am begging him. I am at his mercy. The ground is gravel. My back hits it. He is on top of me. I am shaking my head. He grabs onto my hair. He takes soft golden locks in his fist. Fingers greedy. My head is pulled back. I let out a choked sob. I can see his shadow. His shadow is taller than him. His shadow has green eyes.

How does that make any sense?

He is mumbling something. I can't hear him. His words are lost to me. His hands are reaching into my robes. I bring my knee up. I hit him hard. He reels back. Temporary. I am back tracking. The darkness makes me trip. I am crawling. Fast. On hands and knees. There is something red stained on my fingers.

My wand. I can hear Fred. Don't forget your wand. My fingers search in the pitch black night. I find something. Wooden. A rose curved into the flesh of the wood. Mine. I am on my feet. I run. Faster than I have ever run.

He is behind me. The spell. Cruciatus. How did it not work? Something is wrong. This memory. Something doesn't add up. Think Rose.

I trip. I am back up. The palms of my hands are shredded the blood leaves a hot trail of survival. The fear tastes bitter in my mouth. The train is roaring to life. The lights cast a gloomy feel. He is after me. His hand wraps around my waist I reel backwards. My foot slips from the platform. I can feel my body flail through space and time. Everything slows.

One.

I can see Thomas' eyes. His eyes. He is hungry for me.

Two.

His hands claw out for me.

Three.

The word slips from my mouth.

Four.

Avada Kedavra.

Five. My back hits train tracks.

The green light flashes. Thomas' body hits the ground. He isn't moving. What have I done?

What have I done?

The pan ripples. I sit up. My fingers cover my face. Think. Fast. Get out. Move away from the tracks. I stand. I collapse. I stand again. My hands dig into the pavement. I try to heave myself up. I can't. I can't. My body drops onto the tracks.

I have no will to live.

I can hear the roar of train tracks.

I can hear them move.

I am trying to get up. My ripped robes are caught on the train tracks. My hands are desperate. A blink.

Fred is there. I am yelling something.

"I can't remember."

Fred's green eyes glow in the night's dim light. His face is smeared with red. The crimson drips. His hands are on his wand, he is doing something. What is he doing? Why can't I remember?

Why aren't I dead?

Thomas. No. Oh god. Oh merlin.

What have I done?

Fred's steps are long. We are walking. Away from the tracks. My head falls back, hair swaying in the night air, shining golden. The blood trickles in my throat. I am coughing. The blood sprays across Fred's face. It hangs in red hair. His green eyes won't meet mine. I can see soft tears on his daring face. My eyes drift to the floor. The darkness spots my vision. A body. There is a body on the floor.

I remember. I thought why is there a body? Why would there be a body on the floor? We are walking. My wand. My wand lies beside him. Who is he?

Thomas.

His eyes are open, they aren't closing. He is staring at the stars. Unblinkingly. There is something chilling about the sight.

The darkness overcomes.

My eyes peel open.

There are bars. The cot is small. I am curled up on my side. My arms are wrapped around myself. My face is wet with tears. My lips are chapped. Bloody. I must have been biting on my lip again. The words are a soft murmur.

"I can't remember."

A voice echoes in the room. Male. Quiet. Mysterious. Deadly.

"You've been saying that a lot. All night."

I leap up. The darkness is shuttering. Trapping. I collapse onto the floor. My hands are trembling.

Where am I?

I shut my eyes, fingers curling around my waist. I rock myself back and forth. My voice is a whimper.

"Sorry."

A rustle in the darkness.

"Don't be. I've heard worse."

I let out a breath. Assess the situation Rose. Where are you? What day is it? What now?

I blink. Once. Twice. The darkness has settled. My eyes grow used to it. My senses relax. The darkness is no longer blinding. There is a soft breeze. It whispers over skin. The ground is stone. It smells of bleach. The walls are bars. I slowly stand. My legs shake. I am in a cage. I look down. I am suspended. Far below I can see ministry officials going on in their day.

There is a moving mist that clouds in the room. It moves and turns in the darkness. It has its own life. I reach out. My hand shakes. My fingers touch it. The mass curls back. I let out a small hiss. It burned me. The voice comes again,

"It's a potion. It's supposed to help you. Sleep better. Don't touch it."

I nod my head. Fingers lowering back to by my side. I tilt my head up. Far above I can see huge chains. Dangling from a ceiling. The chains hold the cages up. I can see a lever. I tilt my head to the side.

The edges of the chains are see through. The people down below. Their eyes blink at a steady, repeated pace. Their steps are all measured, all the same. The mist swirls in a pit of fear, turning and swelling with the soft breeze.

The breeze is real. The mass of potions and spells swirling in the air are real.

But everything else? It isn't real. None of it is. Its an illusion. There are no cages. No ministry officials. A shiver.

They must want us to be disoriented, confused. They want us to not know where we are. How can we escape if we are suspended? I almost laugh. If they wanted us to believe it is real they should have tried harder.

I peer over into the cage to my right where the talkative one sits. He is slouched in the corner. He is beautiful. Face carved of deadly angles and a sharp curiosity and rage that bites at me. His hair is black, the shadows seem to cling to it. His hands are scarred. I can see soft white, ghostlike scratches scatter across pale skin. His face is almost white. He must not have seen the sun in a long time. That scares me. He frightens me. His eyes. Once closed now dip open. They are also black. Swirling darkness. He is Asian. His face is not long, but shorter. His eyes are narrowed, double lids authentic. His lips are plush. But he looks under fed. A high nose of royal degree centers his face. His frame is slim, slender. Small in the darkness. He takes in the sight of me too. His face has no expression. His eyes hold thoughts deeper and darker then hell. Then here. He has seen things. Terrible things.

He stands. His steps are long and accurate. He walks with a purpose. His hands loop through the bars and he extends a boney hand to me, fingers long, skeleton like. Pale skin stretched over starved bone.

He cocks his head. Eyes analyzing my reaction. Voice a murmur,

"Chang Beaufort."

I blink at him.

"What?"

He leans his head farther to the right,

"It's my name stranger. What's yours?"

I can hear my teeth chatter. I step forward and take his hand in mine. His fingers are icy cold. They chill me to the bone. I shrink back slightly. Voice strong. Determined. A little frightened. But with no shame to admit so.

"Rose. Rose BlackThorne."

He doesn't react. His eyes slowly lower to my hand. The hand that just let go of his. And then. Just as slowly they rise to my face. He examines me. Eyes having no shame. No second guessing. Not a care.

His voice is hollow.

"You are frightened."

I blink. A nod. Voice strained,

"Who wouldn't be?"

He tilts his head to the other side,

"What did you do?"

I give him a quizzical look,

"What do you mean?"

He lets out a low growl of a laugh. His dark eyes search mine,

"What did you do to end up here?"

I swallow hard. Eyes straying around the cell. There is no bathroom. No anything. A cot and a table with a chair. A pen and four pages of parchment. Three of them are already used. My eyes stray to them. The paper is covered in two words. Wake up. In my scrawled hand writing. I feel a shiver run down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck tensing. Nothing else. The quill has a dark feather connected to a bronze like metal. I close my eyes.

I can see Thomas. Brown eyes tinted red. Staring at the stars. Forever. Endlessly. He will never blink again. Never breathe again. Never not see the stars. He will stare at them forever. And then they will burry him and he will stare at dirt for the rest of his life.

I duck my head. Voice a stutter.

"I killed a man."

He arches a brow. Voice monotone,

"I killed twenty men."

My back goes rigid. I can feel my heart skip a beat. My lips pulled thin. He lets out a more genuine laugh at my reaction. Voice conniving,

"Don't worry. I don't kill strangers."

My eyes fly open. I heave in a breath. My eyes glued to the floor. He goes on.

"They deserved it."

I shake my head.

"No one deserves to die. No matter how bad."

He giggles. High, lips cracking into a grin. It contorts his face into a chilling expression. His teeth are too white. His eyes are too black. His lashes are long. His features almost delicate. But his eyes. His eyes hold a crazy I am scared that one day I will recognize in the mirror. He hooks his hands through the bars and wiggles his fingers at me,

"What about the man you killed? Did he not deserve it?"

I stare at the floor. I can see Thomas' hands on my skin, ripping at cloth. Fingernails digging into my flesh. Breath hot on skin. Shadow tall. I shake my head.

"I don't know."

He tilts his head back,

"Why'd you kill him?"

I can hear James' words. You didn't do it Rose. I close my eyes. I can see green eyes. Green eyes are hunting me. I can feel my breath catch. They are coming. I tilt my head to the side. My hands go to my temples. The memory. Something is wrong with it. Something isn't right. I need to talk to someone. Someone who would know. I don't answer his question. I shoot a different one at him,

"When are visiting hours?"

He blinks, and arches a high brow, the action is powerful. Cold. Breaking. His voice is a slither of breath,

"I wouldn't know. No one wants to particularly visit me."

I shoot him a curious look. But when I find his eyes already on me. I look away. A cough. Soft. He chuckles. Dark. But says nothing of it. I ask another question.

"How long have I been here?"

He tilts his head to the side,

"18 hours and 33 minutes and 12 seconds."

I send him another curious look. He blinks at me. My voice cannot be suppressed, I ask,

"How can you tell time; do you count the seconds?"

He shakes his head, voice soft,

"The illusion resets itself every hour. The seconds and minutes are determined by the repeated actions of the pretend ministry workers down there. The blonde girl staples the papers at half past. Every time. The guy spills his coffee at 43 minutes past. The image collapses for one second every hour. Plus they have a clock down there. On the table."

I tilt my head down. I can see the tables. Four wizards. Robes stamped by ministry logos. I can see the small clock on the far table. I nod my head. That makes sense. I find it interesting how he also knows its an illusion but I say nothing to it. I shoot another question,

"Right. How long have you been here?"

He tilts his head to the side,

"A long time."

I stare at him.

"How long?"

He shrugs his shoulders,

"Around four months."

I stare at him. Eyes wide. My breath catches.

"What about your trial?"

He lets out a hollow laugh,

"No one wants to represent me. I'm one of those filed cases. The people who died were a mixture of both muggles and wizards. So technically I could be in either court. It makes it harder to convict me.

His voice is chilling.

"Lucky me."

I stare at him. My Foster family. Do the ministry know I am an orphan yet? Do they know my foster family is connected to the forgotten, to me, to the muggle society? How much do they know, how much do they not know?

My eyes blink to meet his. He returns my gaze. Sharp. I swallow.

"Twenty people is a lot. Why?"

His lip twitches. He forces it back in a straight line, eyes narrowing,

"You're curious. Well. I guess we both have that in common."

I shake my head,

"You are a monster."

He doesn't flinch.

"And you are quick to judge."

I swallow back hot bile. He watches the action. His head tilts to the side.

"You weren't surprised when I said it was an illusion."

I don't reply. It's a statement. Not a question. He goes on,

"How did you know? It took me days to find out. You wake up and you already know. How?"

I look away. He shrugs. And walks slowly back to his corner. I sit down on the bed. Legs curled underneath me. I let out a breath.

Asses the situation Rose. Think. What are you missing? Did you kill Thomas?

Think. The train pulls into Hogwarts every three hours. Thomas. In my memory attacked me. The whole thing. Twenty minutes tops. Which means? Something isn't right. I close my eyes. My breath shakes. Would you murder someone Rose? No. I would never. I could never. My eyes open. An illusion. On the train. There is a hand on my shoulder. Fingers on my shoulder. Fred talking to Thomas. Thomas following me around. Thomas being pissed at me.

Fred. When Fred saved me. No. Remember Rose. Fred came down from the castle. He. He did what? He had his wand. He was doing magic. Magic. Why? Two possibilities. To heal my cuts. Or. To do something else?

Thirteen seconds under a moving train. Would you die? Yes. But I didn't. I looked hurt. Very hurt. But I should have been more hurt. Much more hurt. What was Fred really doing? His wand. His words.

The other possibility. He was removing a protection charm. A protection charm on my body. But why would it have even been there? Someone needs to have put it on me. I tilt my head to the side. My fingers curl into my hair. Make sense of it Rose.

The Forgotten. The Death Eaters. Green eyes. Three monsters. Three enemies.

The Forgotten. If they wanted me dead they had multiple opportunities already to kill me. But why go through all this hassle?

The Death Eaters. They have no idea who I am. Unless they are targeting the Potters. They don't want to kill me because they know it might lead back to me. But. Create a situation where the Potters are forced to choose to protect me or let the law do what it thinks right to me. Frame me. A possibility. But how would they enter the compound? Without being noticed.

If I am the only suspect that means there were no disturbances. Which means it makes sense. That I did. That I would. Kill him. Thomas.

A shiver. I wrap my arms around myself. The tears are soft. Dark eyes watch me. Curious. Wondering. I ignore them. For now.

Something else.

The green eyes. No name. No face. No purpose. No cause. But they are important. They are haunting me. Why are they so important? Where have I seen them before?

A blink. Yes. Fred carried me to the doors. He burst them open. A crowd formed. A crowd. I remember each step, heavy on the floor. I looked up. It was blurry. But the green eyes. They stood out. Harsh. Strong. Biting. I remember Fred bowing his head into a nod. The man smiled at me. I remember my fingers desperately closing around his ankle. He shook them off and walked away. I saw him there. Fred. A cold knot forms in my stomach. Fred. Fred talking to Thomas. Fred angry at me for being with James. The bile is hot. I can't keep it down I lean over my cot.

My throat is raw from throwing up. My mind is like a maze. Twists and turns. The stink of vomit is hot in my throat. I need to use the bathroom. I hold it. Uncomfortable. Tired. Scared. Alone. My eyes close. The vomit is cleaned with magic from someone I can't see. I don't feel safe without my wand. I don't' feel safe at all.

Thoughts flit through my mind, faces flash. The maze of hell is making no sense. Going and going. No point to slow down. My mind works fast, I try to keep up. My hands scratch at raw skin, nails digging into cleaned, tender flesh.

What does anyone get out of me being framed? The Potters look bad? But other than that. Why me? They could have done this to a Potter. A relative. Why me?

I close my eyes. If I killed him. I need to go to jail. There is no question of that.

But. If I was framed. Is there really even a way out of this?

They don't want just the Potters hurt. There is something else. The Potters being hurt? That's a bonus. The Forgotten orchestrated me being framed for killing my foster family. A criminal in the muggle world. So? So what am I in this world? In this world I am now also a criminal. Then why? Why target me? The Forgotten have everything. What do I have that they don't? That they want?

I close my eyes. I am missing something. Something they know about me that I don't know. My hands tremble. What is that? How would they know? How?

Do they know me from before? Have they been watching me? Why me? What makes me different. The Forgotten are not humans, they don't do mistakes or interests. They don't have desires or wants. They don't get annoyed. Or angry. So? Why me? The only obvious thing is James cares about me.

But. But something is bugging me. The Foster Family will not affect James. Thomas does not affect James. If you want James then kill him. They are holding back from attacking. They haven't shown us any of their abilities. Any amount of how powerful they are.

They are targeting me. Not to die. If they want me dead they could have killed me. No. I am not dead. So? I have something they want. And I need to be alive for it. But. BUT. Why put me in jail to get it? Why confine me here?

It hits me.

The Potters. They must want me separated from them. Why else frame me in both worlds. Muggle and Wizard?

They want me isolated. They must need me isolated.

But why?

What could I possibly have that they want?

That I would not know about?

No disturbance. Hogwarts is surrounded by thousands of protection spells. Millions of charms, illusions, safety nets. After Voldemort and the war they doubled down on security. So how would they get it? Thomas is on the inside? Did he let them in? Is that a possibility?

What do I know about Thomas? Something important. I close my eyes. A drawing. I drew. Of the forgotten. The forgotten. I was the forgotten and I was looking down at a little girl. And I knew who she was. Thomas' sister. James saw it. But there was another one. Underneath it. A drawing of Thomas' little brother. About to die. From my perspective. As the forgotten. I can feel my hands shake. What if Thomas had no choice? What if they had his two younger siblings? What if? What if?

Does that mean that all these dreams I am having are from the Forgotten's point of view? Does that mean they will all come true? Or have already happened? No. No way. I have seen. Seen horrible things.

Frank blind. Molly and Arthur Weasley dead. Fred falling to his death. All those bodies. Faces without names. Faces I haven't met. Faces I don't yet know. A chill settles. I am throwing up again. My stomach is heaving. My hands are hitting. Bruises blossom on white skin, unscarred. I wanted the scars. I needed the scars. A chill.

I look down at my thumb. The scar is gone. The scar from Lucy's coffee that spilled all over me as she got upset about how I wrote too much on my essay. Why is that important? It settles over me. The lack of this scar is very important. Very. Very important.

I close my eyes, head banging back against the bars. I let out a low groan. Think. Think. Think.

I can see the hot coffee slipping over fingers, Rox being tackled by Lucy, just before I went to Slughorn's office. Why does this matter? I close my eyes. Head rolling in a slow circle, hair whispering over skin. The stink of vomit leaves again. A glass of water appears on the table. The ice doesn't melt. It waits for me. I don't move to go get it. A toothbrush appears next to it. I still don't move.

The lack of scar. The surgeons wouldn't have fixed that scar. It wasn't from the train. It wouldn't be necessary, it would be useless to remove it. Right? I shut my eyes. I can see my eyes opening. I am about to die. I am covered in blood. I look down at my body. My fingers are cut. My organs look badly punctured. There is bloody everywhere. Veins stream, across white sheets. I look past the gore. My hand. My thumb, and palm.

The scar isn't there.

My eyes fly open. I stand. I run a hand through my hair. I am pacing.

The memory of me and Thomas.

Parts of the memory are clearer then others. Thomas definitely reeked of alcohol. Someone was definitely taring at my clothes. But the hands. The hands are Thomas'. But something tells me there were more hands. I squeeze my eyes shut. Remember Rose. Please.

Another blink. Something. Something is bugging me. No one can enter Hogwarts grounds. No one can apparate in. On the train there are hundreds of wards and checks to make sure it is a student who has permission. Entering the grounds is impossible without disturbance. It is a known fact. And assuming that the investigation team doesn't suck. They jumped to me as the conclusion because there was no evidence of anyone else. Including no disturbance in the wards. Unless.

There is one exception.

James can apparate in and out of Hogwarts. Hermione can. Harry can.

D.A members can.

My eyes fly open.

A chill settles in my bones. D.A members have the privilege of entering and leaving the premises without being detected. They are not seen. They are not heard. They make no change in the wards or the spells. They can pass through them.

My breath catches.

I stand. My fingers tremble. I am pacing again, back and forth. My lip is bleeding again. My teeth dig into the skin. Think.

There are two- no three possibilities.

One. I did kill Thomas. And what I remember happened. I went into shock and had post traumatic stress because my brain could not handle what I did. So I said that I couldn't remember. Because temporarily I couldn't.

Two. The forgotten can transport in and out of Hogwarts easily. They are another exception. The wards do not catch them because they do not exist? Or are not alive? Most probably the second.

Three. It was someone on The D.A. Someone who has that privilege. And possibly could have given multiple other people their protection. Using themselves like a portkey. To transport more than one person. But they are the only one apparating. Which means.

I can see green eyes shining. Green eyes gleaming. A chill. Power. Corrupt. I swallow hard.

I close my eyes. I open them again. Going still. Wrong Rose. There is another possibility.

Four. They go to Hogwarts. They were not Thomas. But they go to Hogwarts. But why would someone at Hogwarts want to frame me for murder? Who have I offended to that extent.

The answer is no one. Not that I know. But again. It might just be a way to get at the Potters.

A tool. Me. A stepping stone to take down someone bigger. To hurt someone bigger. I feel the bile rise again. The tears come with it. I collapse onto the bed. Slipping and hitting the ground. I let out a soft sob. And then I soft scream. My hands hit my skin. My small hands balled into fists.

The eerie voice rises again,

"Self harm doesn't solve anything."

I let out a choked growl. Eyes batting shut. Hands covering my ears. I hear a soft sigh.

"You must be upset at him."

I let out a shaky breath and wipe away the tears turning to face the man. He sits in the darkness. As if he is the king of it. I close my eyes. Chest rising and falling. Voice a murmur.

"Who?"

He tilts his head back, it hits the wall. He doesn't wince. He stares at me. Voice even.

"Potter."

I feel my mouth go dry.

"How do you know him?"

He lowers his eyes.

"I met him once."

I stare at him.

"James?"

He nods. Eyes rising to meet mine. His gaze is cold. I swallow hard. His voice is hollow.

"Great guy."

I lower my eyes. Voice a whisper,

"He is not as bad as they say."

He chuckles. Voice cold.

"One day I hoped to meet him again. In hear. In prison. Where he deserves to be."

I raise my head,

"Don't say that. You don't know him."

He chuckles. Dark.

"And you do?"

I nod. Chin raising slightly. He arches a brow,

"Then do you know he is a murderer?"

I don't blink. I stare at him. I feel something inside of me crack. My eyes don't blink. Don't doubt him. My voice is hard. Steady. The tears stop coming.

"You're wrong."

He chuckles.

"Oh? Am I?"

I feel my lips part and I close my eyes. My breath shakes. The tears are worn out, tired. My shoulders sag.

"Yes. Yes. You have to be wrong."

He lets out a sigh,

"Why do you think he would be a good person?"

I shake my head,

"There is no good or bad. It's just people. Who make mistakes."

He arches a brow,

"Is killing someone a mistake? The person stays dead. They don't wake up."

I don't respond. His voice is soft.

"A mistake is lying. Hurting someone you love. Those are mistakes. Murder? Its not a mistake. It's a decision."

I close my eyes. Voice soft.

"Shut up."

He lets out a soft laugh. His voice a murmur,

"Don't be bias Rose."

I feel a shiver run down my spine.

"Don't call me that."

He tilts his head to the side,

"Why not?"

I raise my head to meet his,

"Because I am a stranger. We are strangers. Let's keep it that way."

His small smile falls. He doesn't speak for a moment. I wonder if he went to sleep. But his voice slowly comes to life. A whisper.

"It was a Friday. It was three o clock in the morning. I was walking home."

I glance up. His eyes are distant. The darkness has subsided and what is replaced is a vulnerability that scares me. He goes on. Voice soft.

"I go to Drumstrang. It was the end of summer. Hot. A hot night. I heard someone screaming. Screaming at my foster house."

My head shoots up. He doesn't look at me and goes on,

"I went to see who it was. All I saw was blood. Tons of it. Red and shining. Gooey, crimson stuff. It stinked. The body was charred. Blackened. The magic tingled in the air. It was a different kind of magic. Uncontrolled. Raw. Cutting."

His eyes don't close. I can see a deep emotion reflected in those orbs. His voice is soft, it climes under my skin, and into my brain, like a virus. A curse. His voice is chilling,

"It was my brother. Adopted like me. He was dead. I wondered what he did to deserve it. My foster family was magical. We got a report four days later. A letter from the great Ministry. It told us his crimes. And how we were supposed to be hush about this. It told us we should be ashamed. Of him. Of ourselves for loving him."

I can't look away. A single tear slips down his cheek. He cracks a broken smile,

"He was my brother. He was all I had. I wanted to be like him when I grew up."

He ducks his head. Dark eyes blinking shut. Voice quiet in the still. A part of the still.

"And his crime? They said he was affiliated with the Forgotten."

He lets out a cold laugh, eyelashes brushing skin. I can feel a chill settle in my bones. Affiliated? If he was affiliated and hunted and killed, what am I? I am close to them. I am hunted by them. I am found by them. I am suffocated by them. His jaw clenches. His eyes find mine.

"But wasn't him that was affiliated with the Forgotten. It was me. ME. And I wasn't affiliated. I was just. Curious. Curious about what I might become. Curious about who they were."

He stares at me. Eyes not blinking.

"He told me to stop being naive. My brother told me to not go and try to find them. And he is right. I didn't find them. But he did. He found them."

His eyes dig into mine, past mine and into my heart. I lean slightly closer. My tears are shed for him. For his pain. I understand his pain. I know it. I know it. His voice has the softest tremble. Barely audible. His hands don't shake. His eyes do though. With the power of the emotion. His teeth grate against flesh. His fingers tick against the trapping bar. A scrape. A sad tune of those lost children whose families are artificial. Our eyes close at the same time. His voice is like a song.

"He found them. And when he found them he tried to make a deal. Because I had lied to him and told him that I was a part of them. Because I wanted to prove him wrong. The Forgotten used him. Used him as bait. Bait for James Potter. To see how far he would go. Given the right story. The right reasons. To see how powerful he was."

Our eyes open at the same time. I crawl towards the bars and he does the same. I sit with my back pressed to the bars, and he sits with his back pressed against the bars. Back to back. Facing away. From two worlds. I curl my knees to my chest. My head bows. His voice is strong. The broken always have had to be stronger than the rest. His voice is writhing.

"So the great Potter came. And he killed him. And he got excuses and praises and the bloody ministry to protect him. So he doesn't go to jail. And he doesn't see this hellish world. And he doesn't know it. And he has problems like too many girlfriends, and too much fame, and too many people who want to be him."

He lets out a bitter laugh. I lean my head back. He copies the action. We sit like this. His voice has steadied. The emotion is subdued. His fingers poke through the bars. They are tangled with mine. I don't speak. Neither of us do. Eventually his voice floats in the air, cold.

"The ministry told us a story of a horrible boy breaking the law. Attacking aurors with the intent to kill. There was no apology. They took the body. We had nothing to burry. My foster parents? Pretended like it never happened, they were composed. They were prepared. They told me to forget him. They told me he was bad. But I knew. I knew it was the other way around."

My voice is soft, shaking with a thinly hid rage, a fighting emotion.

"How do you know it was James that killed him?"

He lets outs a low, dark chuckle,

"His DNA. It was all over the place. And then the news started to report weird things James Potter could do. Magic without a wand. Whispers on the streets that he is in the D.A."

I close my eyes. I can see golden eyes flickering to mine. His hands on me. His hands dripping red. Red with blood. I let out a choked breath. I let out a soft scream. Reeling away from the bars I crawl back to the corner. My lower lip wobbles.

"I'm sorry."

A shift. A breath.

"Don't apologize for him. He doesn't deserve it."

I shake my head,

"Please. I. James. He. I. I am so sorry."

He tenses and moves back to his corner. Matching my movements. Dark eyes back to deadly. Watching me. I can't seem to look at him. Eventually. Voice a soft whisper,

"How did you know I knew him? James?"

His face is back to expressionless. Nothing gives away his burning hatred for me. Of me. Of James. Of people like us. His voice is cold.

"The guards, the inspectors, the ministry officials when they aren't focusing on me they are whispering about you. You and the Potter boy. For the past 18 hours. It's all they've been saying."

I glance up at him, raising my head, hair hanging in my eyes, tangled. My eyes are wide, the whites stand stark in the darkness.

"And what have they been saying?"

He arches a brow,

"That James wouldn't let the police take you."

My breath catches. I stand. Sharp. What? My hands wring. Fingernails cutting into my scalp. I can feel a rage. A rage burning in my veins. He watches my reaction head cocked to the side. I suck in a breath. My fingers tremble.

I don't hate many things. I don't turn to rage or anger as a solution. But there is a snap. A snap deep in my core. Too much. I can't handle this much.

That was my decision. A decision James should have given ME to choose. Who the hell does James Potter think he is? I close my eyes. Dropping into a slumped position on the floor. My shoulder's shudder. I can see golden eyes. Golden everything. Another shudder.

The gold blinds me. It seems to consume me. It shines off of the walls and gleams from his veins, his eyes shine a sickly metallic color. I shrink back into the floor. Eyelids peeling open. I stare into dark eyes. They gleam in the shadows. I turn away. Head lolling between my legs.

I can hear V's voice in second year. She had stormed away from the Gryffindor table and came to sit with me, at the Ravenclaw table. Her eyes cold. Shining with a slight anger. I remember asking her what's wrong. She replied that James wasn't letting Albus date. Anyone.

I remember her words after that, harsh, biting,

"When James latches onto someone he doesn't let go. He is possessive of people."

I can feel another ripple of anger. That was my choice. James. Rose you must understand James. James didn't know how horrible it was to lie there. Trapped behind closed lids in hell. In Azkaban. In prison. In delusions. In weird memories. In weird lies. A maze of my mind. Nightmare after nightmare. Talking to death. To myself. Going crazy. Wishing. Praying that someone would wake me up. Would save me.

And James didn't.

I try not to feel the hunting, oozing disappointment. Because James hates disappointment. He is too thin skinned. He is hurt so easily. And I feel something else. The happy bubble of love pop. And the darkness and insanity seems to wash in. Cold, chilling.

A single cold tear drips down my face. It clings to my chin. It slips and falls hitting the floor. Soft. It hits the ground, just a droplet. I suck in a shaky breath. The chill settled in the air, and soaked into my bones. I look over to Beaufort and his eyes peal open. Our eyes meet. And he lets out a sigh. His breath forms a cloud of mist. Its freezing. I crawl over to the cot and pull myself onto it. Wrapping my arms around myself. I stare at him. Voice shaking.

"What is that?"

He stares at me. Eyes blinking lazily,

"Dementors."

I let out a chocked gurgle of fear. Eyes scanning the darkness. The illusion fades. And my eyes scan the actual place. It's a long hallway. Tiled in shining green. The cells are lined up against each other. Across from me, on the other side of the hallway is a bathroom for each one of us. I look to my right. The dark eyed boy eyes my reaction. I look to my left. A girl lies down. Her ankles are crossed, her eyes are closed. A hand covers her face. She is buffer then me. Big. Scars trace her skin. Her hair is shaved off. A small stubble on her bald head. I bite my tongue, and my eyes move from her to the guards that stand in front of my cell. I can feel the chill growing stronger.

I first see its cloak, dark shadows, upon dark shadows murmuring in the breeze, the cold is unsettling. My lips can't smile. I feel tears slip down cheeks. I don't know when they fell. I don't close my eyes. I see her. Dom. She lies on the floor. She is dying. All my fault. All my fault.

The tears are flowing faster and faster. My fingers bat away the tears. I bite my lip, the whimpers are soft. The dark eyes are closed. His tears are soft. He doesn't acknowledge my curious gaze.

The dementor is blocked from my view by a tall man. He speaks to the guards. They nod and the door opens. The girl to my left raises her head. Her eyes are blue. Startlingly. Like Dom. I feel another wrenching ache. I double over hands clamping over my mouth to stifle my scream. Her eyes drift to my bent over form. Her eyes find mine. The blue is strong, determined it bites into my eyes. She looks hardened. The Dementor being there doesn't affect her. Her eyes look sad. Wise and sad. As if she has seen a lot, and regrets double that.

She tares her gaze from mine and walks away. I watch the door shut. The dementors drifts away, its shadow robe tumbling behind it. I shut my eyes. I can hear the dark eyed boy's voice from the bars,

"That's Ace."

I open my eyes. And stare straight ahead. He goes on, voice cold, soft, a lullaby of death,

"She already has been in Azkaban for three years. She was given a plea bargain. They are re-trialing her. To be honest she might get out."

I turn to face him. Eyes wide.

"Did James really do that?"

He stares at me.

"I am not going to force you to believe something."

I stand. My footsteps are slow.

"James would never kill someone."

He lets out a dark laugh.

"You are like all the other ones aren't you?"

I stare at him. He leans away from the bars,

"Fine. Follow your lover boy. It's not like it's his fault you are here."

I bite the inside of my cheek. My voice is soft.

"I need evidence. I can't believe you just because you say so."

His eyes meet mine. His voice is cold.

"You don't know the Potters. But we do. Everyone in here does. And we hate them. We all hate them."

I shrink back as he steps closer,

"You think Potter would follow you in here? You think he loves you? That's funny."

I close my eyes. I can hear McGonagall's voice.

"And if Rose isn't innocent? And she goes to Azkaban? Would you break her out? Sacrifice the fame, the name, the money, everything?"

I can hear James' breath suck in. I turn away from him. Voice quiet.

"If I ever get out of here. I will visit you. With James."

He stares at me. Voice cutting,

"Bring him here Rose BlackThorne and I will kill him."

I lower my eyes. My eyes closing.

"I thought you said you don't kill strangers."

He lets out a harsh laugh,

"I make exceptions every now and then. And James? I think you and him are more strangers than him and I."

I suck in a breath and walk to the guards voice a whisper.

"May I use the bathroom please?"

A nod. The door unlocks. Chains are locked onto my wrists and my ankles. They are hot, biting. The door is opened. The door is closed. I sit alone in the bathroom. I let out a breath.

James. James who cares about me. James who holds me. James who does terrible things. James who is above the law. James who prevents me from choosing what I want.

I tip my head back. The bathroom is small. The tiles are white. There is a little carpet. Beige at my feet. I dig my toes into it. I close my eyes. A breath.

Now what? Where do you go from here Rose? You have never needed a hero. You are strong on your own. You have become a burden to your friends. How could I burden them with me, like this? I feel my breath hitch.

I am lonely. All alone. In my head. Lost in it.

James took the choice from me. Having the Potter's involved in my trial makes it no longer about me but about them. And they have enemies. Enemies I am not big enough to face. I may not be a murderer. Or I may be. The difference? I might go to jail either way. I am going insane. My mind is playing tricks on me. I can't sleep. I haven't eaten. I have no idea how long I have been asleep. How much the ministry knows. How much James knows.

I haven't told anyone about me being framed for my foster family. V knows. A little. And when James finds out. And when it all falls apart. Why should it matter? Trying being selfish for once. For once Rose. The tear drips. I catch it on my finger. I let out a shaky breath.

Pull yourself together Rose. Solve one problem at a time. You. You are not important in the end game. Make sure James and V are safe. Make sure they are okay. That is the first priority.

Fact. The chances of me getting out of this are small. James didn't let me go. So. So? That means that he broke the law. That dirties the Potter's name. That stains their reputation.

Secondly. I should go to jail if I killed Thomas. And I do not know if I did or did not do it. I am guilty. If I am guilty. I am not sure that I am not guilty. There are too many things I am not sure about. Too many questions. A tear streaks past my hands that are pressed to my face.

There is no escape from this place. Not without knowing for sure. I have to be sure. I need someone. I need. I want. I can't.

I close my eyes. A knock on the door. My eyes open. A woman stands before me. Tall. Beautiful in figure, face and form. Her brows are high, her hair pulled back. She is young. Only four or five years older than me. She extends her hand to me. Her voice is soothing. Professional. Prepared. Kind.

"I'm you lead defendant, Jemma Carnigey."

I stand from my crouched position in the bath tub and extend my hand to meet hers. She is warm. Solid. Real. She smiles. Lips tipping up at the edges, her voice is softer when she speaks again.

"You must be Rose BlackThorne. It's an honor."

I give her a nod. Stronger. Growing stronger. She gives my fingers a squeeze,

"Your first trial will be in seven days."

I nod my head. Small. She goes on. Voice pristine,

"You will be released tomorrow, on probation for a day."

I feel my heart skip a beat.

"What? Why?"

Her eyes shift over my face, her voice is unforgiving,

"Another crime was added to your sentencing."

I feel my breath catch.

"So?"

She lets out a long breath, eyes dipping down to my desperate fingers clasping around hers. She pulls her hand away softly. Voice professional

"So your arrest needs to be redone. Normally it takes around 4 hours. But- but since they are minors. All three. Well, including you the crime is. Well it's rare that a minor kills three minors."

I shake my head,

"Thomas. That's one. But who are the other two?"

She doesn't speak, she clears her throat softly, voice clipped as she continues,

"No comment. Forgive me but that is confidential."

I tilt my head to the side,

"Why release a criminal when they are just being sentenced more?"

Her lips tip up at the sides just a little, but nothing else shows her amusement. Her words stay constricted.

"It isn't the adding to your sentence that releases you. Its you not being in our records. Ministry records."

I feel my breath catch.

"What?"

She goes on. Eyes never leaving mine,

"Your ID does not exist. You do not exist."

The prison cell is less confining knowing freedom is minutes away. Beaufort watches me with a distant, cold expression. I stand. The leader of the defense left. Jemma. She seems official. She seems ready. But I don't know her. How can you trust your entire rest of your future on a person you don't know?

My hands are shaking still. My throat is sore. My stomach is empty. There are too many things I am thinking. Nothing I can focus on. Nothing that matters. My fingers tick against the bar. The guards walk slowly down the hallway. I hear their footsteps before I see them. The illusion fades and the green walls shined.

The guards come for me. They enter the room, opening the door. They do not smile. They have no expression. They don't know me either. I can feel dark, black eyes watching me. The guards watch me stand from the cot. My feet hit the floor. I stand. I don't fall down. They beckon to me. I stand on shaking legs. My fingers brush away the dirt. The cold. The fear. I will be back. With worse. A worse sentence.

When I was a child I dreamed of one thing. When I grow up. I want to be free. From who my parents made me to be. From who society defines me as. From my mind that traps me. From people. From the orphanage.

But I was little. And I didn't understand that when you mess up there are consequences. And that you can never, truly ever be free. There are always chains. There will always be something that keeps you back.

James not waking me up doesn't just upset me. It scares me. I have been independent my whole life. As an orphan I had no parents to make decisions for me. Who decided instead of them? Me. I did. I would decide when, how, why. I decided to go to Hogwarts. I decided to get on the train and see the police man. I decided how late I would stay up. I would decide how much money I should spend each month. I would decide how to budget. I would decide how to save up for something I wanted.

But James doesn't understand that. I cannot blame him. In his life people have wanted to make every decision for him, and he fights against it, rebels. James is used to making decisions for other people. Making choices for other people. He is used to people caring about him. Doing what they think is best for him. He learns from them.

He did what he thought was best for me. He didn't ask me. The decision, he thought was his. V knows me enough to know I don't like people making decisions for me. But James doesn't know that.

I blink. Soft. I straighten my back. My chin raises. This hell is not James' fault. It's mine. The consequences. The reasons. They are stacking. They are biting. And they have nothing to do with him. James. You cannot blame him Rose. Reason tells you not to. But I can feel it. The ripple has formed. The crack was already made. There is a doubt. Slithering and turning in the darkness in my mind. And the voices. The voices are whispering to blame him. To be selfish. To escape.

Ignored.

I am not insane. I am just scared. My mind is reacting to the situations I have been in. As scared.

Somewhere far off I hear myself laugh. Keep telling yourself that Rose.

The chill settles. The cold was unbearable. Freedom is temporary. The guards beckon me. I step forward. A pause. I glance back. Dark eyes meeting green. Beaufort tilts his head to the side, voice icy,

"Potter already got you out? What? Can't last one day?"

I suck in a harsh breath. Eyes dipping down to the ground. I look back up. Slow.

He is an orphan. Like me. He is a murderer. Possibly a psychopath. Not possibly. Probably. But there is something alluring. Something that makes me want to tell him that I am not Potter's girl. I am my own girl. That James has zero possession over me. That he had no right. That I will not live my life being known as someone's girl. But as me. My own.

I slowly shake my head. Voice a soft echo,

"No. They don't have records of me."

He stares at me. Eyes fleeting over my face. I can see just the hint of shock in his eyes. But it is covered, hidden behind a darkness and an intense intelligence that quickly catches on. I go on, voice shaking,

"Your brother. I am like him. Like you. I understand."

He tilts his head to the side. I am telling him I am an orphan without telling the ministry. I follow the tilt of his head. Green intelligent eyes piercing into his black pits. My lips move, soft,

"Do you understand what I am saying?"

He narrows his eyes at me. And then slowly he nods his head. Eyes never leaving mine.

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. It is an understanding between us. An understanding that holds us to it. To our words. I can see slight interest. Not curiosity. Interest. He wants to know more. Like how someone like us could be next to a Potter. Protected by a Potter. Loved by a Potter. I stare at him. Eyes never leaving his. His voice is just a detached statement.

"I'll look forward to your return."

I can feel a cold tear slip down my cheek. He watches it. Not with any eager joy to see me in pain but more a fascination that the tear is so prominent. So outstanding on pale skin. His hand reaches out to meet mine. But he drops it. Ducking his head. Eyes lowering to the floor.

The chains are gone. They transported me to a café. Not back to Hogwarts. There are two people there. Teddy Lupin and V.

V stares at me. Eyes flitting over my form. Her eyes hold tears. She doesn't let them fall. She is strong for me. She steps closer. She knows that I am scared. She can see my hand shaking. She knows I need something soft, careful, tender. Nothing too sudden. Nothing too fast. Too rushed.

She slowly walks towards me. Her footsteps are soft. Each one is paced, careful. Her face is blotchy, her nose is slightly runny. Her eyes never leave my face.

Slowly her hand reaches out, palm up. She stands a foot away from me. She waits for me to make the first move. To come to her. She knows that I do not need anyone. That I can be strong if I need to be. That I have always been alone. And that that made me independent. She knows that she is not a support system but a friend. A family member. An equal. I close my eyes. The tears tumble down my cheeks. I suck in a sharp breath and take her hand in mine, giving her fingers a soft squeeze. She closes her eyes. Stepping closer and leaning her forehead against mine. We stand like that. Holding onto each other. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me closer her voice is just a whisper,

"I got you a strawberry milkshake."

I let out a watery laugh, my arms loop around her, pulling her into me, my hands stop trembling. My breath stops catching. V is here. V is here. Everything will be okay. V is being annoying like usual. V will always be here. V can help me. I will let her. She is the only exception. I feel my lower lip wobble. My voice is a soft stutter,

"I hate strawberries."

She laughs, its forced, but it is refreshing, it is a breath of fresh air. It is exactly what I need. Like always she knows. She always knows. I lean into her, voice a whimper,

"I don't know what to do. I'm scared. V. Please. I can't. This. This. This is a little too much for me to handle. You know? Cause I can handle. I. I am not. I just. It was. It was harder then I expected. And. It was so cold. V it was so cold."

She pulls away. Eyes searching mine.

"Rose. I."

She shakes her head. She is speechless. But her eyes. Brown eyes searching mine. They tell me everything I need to know. I just nod as she searches my eyes. Finding the burning pain. She digs beneath skin and finds the cracks, and her soft chocolate eyes heal them. The pain seems to subside.

She closes her eyes and lets out a broken breath. She bows her head. Her voice trembles,

"I've been thinking all these selfish thoughts. Like couldn't it be anyone? Anyone else? Anyone but-."

She searches my eyes, voice breaking, the tears are soft, they are warm. She is warm. Her voice whimpers,

"And then. For a split second I thought, I thought thank god it wasn't me. Thank god it wasn't me,"

She flinches back from me. Eyes squeezing shut. Her hands tremble. She digs the heals of her hands into her eyes, hiding her pain. She lets out a watery laugh. She shakes her head. Eyes shifting over me. Her voice breaks,

"The. We. We can't get you a lawyer. Because-well it would show we favor you. It would make the case harder to win. You know?"

I nod. She goes on, words tumbling from shaking lips,

"James holding you back has already damaged your legal image. Well- made it worse. So. So we can't. We can't involve ourselves anymore. I know. It is so stupid. So idiotic."

She shakes her head, fingers squeezing mine,

"I want you to know that you are not. Not a tool of the Potter's. Because I know you."

I rip my hands from her, my lower lip wobbling, she grabs onto my hands again, fingers weaving through mine, going on,

"I know you. And I know that that thought has crossed your mind. That you are just a stepping stool for someone bigger. Something bigger. But listen."

I look up at her, eyes rounded, my eyes shift across her face. My face stands, petrified, my chest rises and falls, desperate for air, salvation. Anything. Her voice goes on.

"Listen to me. It'll be okay. Not right now. But one day, soon, I will make it all better. For you. I promise, hmm? I promise."

I clear my throat. Voice choked,

"If. If I go to prison."

She cuts me off, fingers shaking against mine, pulse racing, voice broken,

"No. Rose-don't"

I cut her off. My hands squeezing hers,

"If I go to prison you need to move on. From me. I don't want to be a burden. Please. I don't want to be a burden to you."

She closes her eyes, shaking her head, the tears slip down flushed cheeks. Her voice breaks,

"I could never. Rose. Please. Don't ask me. Don't ask me to do that. That's not fair. That's not fair to me."

I lean into her. Voice shaking,

"I don't want to hurt you."

She tries to smile, lips trembling, voice a whimper,

"You aren't hurting me."

I shake my head,

"I am. I am though."

She lets out a soft wet laugh,

"You would never hurt me Rose. You know that. You. I. You couldn't do that. It's. It's the ministry that's hurting me. Them. Not you. Never you."

I close my eyes. Heart pounding. I can see V holding me when Dom died. I can see V being strong at the funeral. I can see V helping me up after I fell in Quidditch class. I can see V buying me my first ice cream cone. I can see V not judging. I can see V stumbling along to the waltz with me. I can see V braiding my hair. I can see her hands shaking as she gets upset at something Hugo did. I can see her hands stilling when I grabbed onto them. I can see her holding my hair as I threw up when I got sick. I can see her visiting me in the hospital wing. I can see V reading the poetry I wrote. I can see her being honest. She never lied. I can see her fingers on mine. I can see her teasing me. I can hear her soft breath as we fell asleep on the first day of Hogwarts.

I can remember all the things we wanted. All the hopes. All the dreams. The diaries we wrote together. The photo albums. The big wants and the little needs. The happy days. The long walks on the edge of the lake in the dawn.

My eyes dip shut. The tears stream down hot cheeks.

The first time we met. On the train. I remember.

I had none of the right books. None of the right stuff. I had no money. No robes to change into. I just had freedom on my mind. Curiosity. A want. I remember stepping onto the train. I remember all the compartments being full.

I remember stumbling along the moving train. There was no place for me. There was never any place for me. My face was smudged with dirt. My hands were shaking, clamped around my stomach. I felt the nervous nausea claw. I was hungry. I was tired. I was all alone.

There was a group of girls and boys. They looked around my age. They were all well dressed. Beautiful. Stunning. A prefect walked up to me and told me to go into the apartment. Because the train was moving. And I can't stay out here. I remember opening the door. I stepped in. They all looked up.

There was a boy with raven hair and intelligent, goofy golden eyes, a boy with freckles and red tuffs of hair. There was a beautiful girl with white, long hair that danced in front of her face, shimmering over blue eyes.

But their gazes did not capture my attention. They were not kind gazes. They were curious. But not gentle. They were sharp. They were privileged. They shined of expense and well breeding that made that nausea roar to a rising wave in my throat.

But then I saw her.

Her eyes. Big. Curious like mine. But soft. Kind. Loving. Gentle. She stood and walked over to me. She stuck out her hand. Voice kind, inviting, trustworthy,

"I'm Veronica, but everyone calls me V, what's your name?"

I remember tilting my head to the side, eyes wide like saucers staring at her hand. She followed my gaze. She dropped her hand. And caught my gaze. We watched each other. I shrunk back when she took another step closer. We stood like that for a while. Eventually. Voice soft she said.

"It's a little crowded in here. Wanna go back to my compartment?"

I remember nodding, my lips twitching slightly up. Into a small, shy smile. She grinned, soft. As if not to frighten me. She turned and talked to the other people in the compartment for a minute. And then she opened the door and led the way out. I didn't notice the golden eyes that watched me.

I didn't notice the tint of golden veins underneath red flesh. I didn't see how he leaned into Fred, voice a whisper,

"What did she say her name was?"

I didn't hear Fred's response of,

"She didn't say her name. Why do you ask?"

I didn't hear Lysander cutting in, mouth tilted open slightly, voice a whisper,

"God she is beautiful. Did you see her eyes? They are stunning."

I didn't see the sharp glare the golden eyed boy sent him.

I don't think it would have made a difference if I saw them. I don't think it would have changed my mind. James and I are of a different breed. Back then. If James approached me I would have flinched back. I would not have replied with something witty. Something wise and intelligent. I would have had no reply. I would have been scared. Scared of his tall form. His sharp gaze. I would not have accepted his attention as something good. Something wanted.

V closed the compartment door behind us.

We went back to the compartment. I sat in the corner. The candy trolley came. She asked me what I wanted. I had no money. I said nothing. V bought a few things. She handed me them all. Eyes wide. Voice a gentle murmur,

"Choose what you want. I like them all."

I stared at her. And then slowly I chose a candied quill. I had never seen candy like this before. I took it and said a soft thank you. I split it in half and handed her one half. She stared at me, eyes confused, her voice soft,

"No. It's yours. All yours."

I cocked my head to the side and shook it, my voice a slight stutter,

"Share?"

She cracked a soft smile and nodded. Voice comforting.

"Share."

And that was that. I clinged to her in the boat up to the castle. I asked her soft questions which she answered. And we fit. Like puzzle pieces.

If I saw that Rose today would I even recognize her? She was shy. She was scared. She wasn't strong. She wasn't independent. She needed love. Attention. But she didn't have the guts to ask. To grow attached. I am a different person now. Then that girl.

Who changed me? Who made me me?

I open my eyes. I stare at V. She did. I am the me today because she coxed me out of the shell I was hiding in. I wrap my arms around her, my voice breaking,

"I'm scared."

She squeezes me closer, her voice is gentle. It's always been gentle. A whisper,

"Me too. I wish I wasn't. I wish I could be stronger. For you."

She pulls back slightly and cups my face in both of her hands, eyes scanning mine. Her brown eyes are wide, soft. Her fingers are kind. She tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. Her hands tremble,

"I know you think you can't handle this. I know you are overwhelmed. But. You are doing. You are handling this. So. So well. I would. I. I'm not. Your. Your braver then me. Stronger then me. You don't need me to make it through this. You don't need anyone. But I'll be right here. The whole time."

She wipes away my tears, her skin is tender. I lean into the soft touch. Her voice is just a whisper in the air that hangs suspended between us. Her lips barely move. But the words wrap around my heart and hold it, and they let the pain rest. They let the fear fade. Her eyes are red, her pulse slows as she holds me. I can feel her muscles relax. I am here. She is here. We are safe. Temporarily. But it's okay. Because this safety is enough.

Her voice calms me. Her words relax me.

"I know that you want go to jail if you killed him. That you aren't sure. That your mind is racing to all the possibilities. But you have no facts. And you need facts to believe. To believe that you didn't."

She cups my face, her thumb running over my cheek. Her words are soft,

"If they take you to Azkaban. I will break you out. We can. Can go on the run. We can travel the world. Like we planned. Like we always planned."

I let out a choked sob and wrap my arms around her, my head rests on her shoulder. She strokes my hair. Her hands are no longer shaking. Her fingers are gentle. Her touch is warm. Motherly. She lets out a wet laugh,

"What would life be without you? Huh? You think I can, what, move on? Hell no. I'll break you out and we. We can go to Paris. And Venice. And New York. And. And. We can rob libraries and live off of scraps. We don't need magic. I don't need magic. Or. Or my family name. Or education. Or any of that."

Her fingers wrap around my shaking form, her voice is choked, her eyes are glazed with big tears, they tumble down soft skin. Her fingers squeeze me close. Her voice is a murmur against my forehead, voice breaking,

"I love you so, so much. I wish. I wish it could be anyone. Anyone instead of you. I would give. I would give anything for it to be someone else."

She lets out a sigh. Eyes closing. The tears slip on wet lashes. My voice slowly speaks up. A murmur against her robes. Words blurred with soft sobs.

"If you break into Azkaban for me then you will be a criminal too."

She lets out a wet laugh,

"Then I can join you in Azkaban."

I shake my head, voice cracking,

"You can't do that. You. You have so much to do. So much you can do with your life. So much."

She pulls me closer, her words choked,

"I don't want that life. I planned that life with you. You are important. You are important in the plan. You are the biggest part of that plan. There is. There is no plan without you. None."

I let out a broken sigh. The words may be over used. The words may be repetitive. The words may be causal for some people. But they are important. They are outstanding. They mean the world. They are soft. They are desperate. They sum up so much. They say so much more then what they mean. Eight letters. Three words. Enough. Enough to live. Enough to want. Enough to not go to jail.

They are just a whisper.

"I love you."

She just nods. She knows. V has always known. V will always know. V is brilliant. V is here. V is solid. V makes me happy. V is better. Has always been better. James. James is so different. He is different from me. From V. He doesn't. He wouldn't.

James is selfish. James does what benefits his own interests. What benefits his own heart. His own wants. His own needs.

But V. V has sacrificed so much for me. V has climbed mountains and bent the wind and changed the song when I didn't like it. She isn't just a friend. She is like a mother. She is like a sister. She is the only family I have ever known. The only family I have ever understood. The only family I have ever respected. Ever treasured. I needed her. This year I needed her. But I got James instead. And James is different. James needs the love you's. James needs the attention. James needs the words. The soft touches. James wants and wants. It's just how he works.

But what about me? Sometimes. Sometimes I also need an I love you. And a hug. And soft touches. I need someone who doesn't ask for something in return. Who knows that asking is exhausting. That can just support me.

I don't need someone like all the time. I don't need much. I can survive on one loaf of bread for four days. I don't ask for much. I try to always see people in the best light. To respect them even when I know I shouldn't. But. But sometimes. Rarely. It gets. It is too much. And I can handle it. I know I can. But. But. I can handle it better with someone there. There beside me.

V and I stand like that for minutes. We don't push each other away. We hold on. Fingers relaxing. Breath evening. Shoulders slumping. Heart rates calming.

I close my eyes. V pulls away.

I blink. Teddy steps forward. I let go of V and turn to him. Bowing my head slightly. A sign of respect. V watches the action. Eyes shaking slightly. Her voice is stronger though, stronger than before,

"I thought you would have questions. Teddy has most of the answers. Probably."

I stare at him. His eyes change color with each blink. His voice is soft. Like the breath of wind. It is just a murmur,

"How was the first day?"

I suck in a sharp breath. Where do I even start? To pick it apart? To tell them? Will they even understand? How could they? I bite my lip and give a little shrug, giving him a watery smile, voice steadying,

"Cold. Lonely. Scary."

He nods. He doesn't press for more. We are strangers. More is asking too much. He gestures to the hallway to our right. I follow them down it to our little room. He closes the curtains behind it and gestures for me to sit. I take a tentative seat. V does the same. Her hand squeezing mine.

We are silent as the waiter comes with menus. V already got a strawberry smoothie. But she doesn't touch it. She just stares down at our hands. Our fingers weaved together. Every now and then she will give my hand a squeeze. Releasing a big breath. She doesn't cry. The tears have all dried up. They leave empty trails on her face. But she doesn't go to wash off the tear stains. She wears them with a pride. A pride that relaxes me.

I order a hot chocolate. Not because I'm hungry. But because chocolate helps with dementors. It helps with their cold. Their freezing ice cold.

Teddy scans my face. Voice soft.

"What do you want to know?"

I swallow. And I raise my chin.

"How long was it? The train stop that night."

He nods. Voice still.

"The same as always. Three hours."

I nod. Eyes closing briefly. Three hours. The attack and the whole thing with Thomas was only twenty minutes. I open them. My lips tip up just a little. My voice is stronger when I ask the next question,

"How many trials will there be?"

He nods.

"Four. One every week. For a month."

I nod. Jaw clenching and then softening. I let out another breath. Mind working like clockwork. Voice soft.

"Jemma Carnigey. What do you know about her?"

He nods again. Lips pursing slightly,

"Just that she is the lead of your defense. She is young. Inexperienced. But determined. She is from the muggle protection sector of the ministry. She has worked in law before. But not as a lead. She is a muggle herself. She went to Hogwarts and graduated three years ago. She was a Hufflepuff. She graduated top of her class."

I nod. Hand going to rub my temple,

"Anything else?"

He sits back, hand casually going and twirling his earing. Fingers long. His hair fades into a darker shade of brown. His voice is softer when he goes to speak again,

"She doesn't like the Potter's."

I glance up,

"Meaning what?"

He shakes his head,

"You are assigned cases, not given the choice to choose. This is her work. She will do as you two agree. She is professional. But. Bare in mind that you being linked to the Potter's who will be a big part of this trial. And every trial. The only trial that really matters is the"

I cut in,

"The last one. Yeah I know. But do you think she will be bias?"

He gives me a slightly startled look but goes on,

"No. She won't be biased. But. Be honest with her. Completely honest. Lies will only dig you deeper. And she can't protect or argue a lie. Bare in mind that she will ask personal questions. About you and James, and well… All of us. Very personal questions."

I arch a brow,

"Like what?"

He shrugs,

"Like how much do you know about James?"

He arches a brow, voice darkening,

"How much do you know about James?"

I stare at him.

"A lot."

He swallows hard. Voice slightly harsher,

"What about his work? Do you know where he works?"

I don't break my gaze. I just nod. Voice steady.

"I said I knew him. That includes his job. And when I say job I mean private ministry work."

He gives me a long look, voice giving nothing away,

"Him being a D.A member. Is that something you know?"

I nod.

"Yes."

He winces slightly, eyes closing,

"That's bad."

I lean closer, hands resting on the table,

"Why?"

He shakes his head, eyes finding mine,

"D.A members cannot give away their identity."

I lock my jaw. James broke the law by telling me he was one. I feel a shiver run down my spine. I also feel a slight amount of anger, voice voicing it,

"With the whole trial be about the Potter's?"

He narrows his eyes slightly, rolling his tongue over his teeth,

"Yes. They will try to link the crime to them. Or try to find more crimes you may know they have done."

I stare at him. I can hear Chang Beaufort's voice. James is a murderer. He killed my brother. He should be in jail with me. I raise my chin. Eyes closing. What if he is right? What if James is a killer? Then shouldn't I not care if he goes to jail? Shouldn't he go to jail? But what if it's all a lie and I get James in trouble for something he didn't do? But I tighten my mind. Rose don't be biased. The Potter's have been above the law for too long. Shouldn't you not back away from this? If James is a murderer he should pay for his mistakes. Everyone should have equal consequences. The government cannot be above the law. The law needs to be above them. Corruption should be fought. Justice is justice for all. Potter. Malfoy. Black. Weasley. Goyle. Greyback.

But I love James. Right Rose? I feel the crack grow wider. I open my eyes. Who can I trust? Who is telling the truth? Why should I protect anyone? But. But I want to protect him. Because he is important to me. But why should I? A criminal is a criminal. A murderer is a murderer. Right?

Teddy studies my reaction. His voice is a whisper,

"How much do you know Rose?"

I open my eyes. And shake my head. Voice steady,

"No more than him being in the D.A."

He studies my face, eyes narrowed to slits, the purple iris is stunning. His voice is cold,

"You wouldn't lie right Rose? Because you can't lie in court."

I raise my chin. V does the same. We speak at the same time.

"I wouldn't lie."

"She wouldn't lie."

I glance at V. Her eyes meet mine. She knows I lied. But she doesn't judge. She doesn't wonder. She knows. She just does. She nods her head. Just ever so slightly. I look back forward. He has relaxed his hardened stance and gives us both a long look. Voice back to soft,

"Any more questions?"

I let out a breath.

"Were there any disturbances in the wards around Hogwarts?"

He shakes his head. I nod. That does not surprise me. He arches a brow. I ask another question,

"Did the surgeons remove a scar on my thumb and palm?"

He looks slightly startled by the question and glances at V. V gives me a long look. Eyes searching mine. Curious. She shakes her head. Voice soft,

"I memorized all of the medical presegures. There was no surgery on your hands. Which hand was it?"

I give her a quick glance, voice soft,

"The right."

She nods.

"No. Nothing."

I nod again. I look back down and then back up. Voice shaking.

"What about Fred?"

V gives me a sharp glance,

"What about him?"

I clear my throat. My voice softer,

"Why was he down by the train?"

Teddy lets out a sigh, voice soft,

"That's my fault."

I send him a sharp look,

"What do you mean?"

He lets out a deep breath. Eyes meeting mine,

"I sent him to check if the prefects were doing their rounds by the train platform."

I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. And I stare at him. Teddy. He is in the D.A. He has access to Hogwarts at all times. He sent Fred to check the platform. To check me. The coincidence. Is it a coincidence? I can hear my mind turning. I tilt my head to the side, voice a little sharper,

"Why would you need to check the prefects by the train? That late at night?"

His eyes meet mine. No shame. But some people are simply just better liars then others. Don't trust anyone Rose. Anyone could be your enemy. Anyone could be the person who ruined your life. Don't be fooled. But. Also don't jump to conclusions. Think this out. His voice is steady. Nothing given away.

"It's a new round. We added it to the prefect route at the big vote seven months ago. I got a report that they had been skiving off and not going all the way down to the tracks. So I asked Fred to check for me."

My eyes don't blink. They don't leave his,

"Why Fred? Why that night?"

He gives me a long look. His voice does not change. It stays the same. Steady. Almost sickly.

"Fred is my relative. I trust him to go check something for me. I asked him the three nights before as well. But he kept giving me excuses. Eventually he agreed. On that night."

I lower my gaze. Voice soft.

"Then what about the Prefects?"

He lets out a breath,

"The aurors interviewed them. As did I. They never went. The walk from Hogwarts to the platform is around six miles. They didn't do it."

I swallow. Eyes never leaving the table. His voice is softer, gentler when he speaks again,

"Any more questions?"

I glance up.

"Dementors."

He nods.

"What about them?"

I lower my eyes,

"How do I survive them?"

He nods. Voice soft,

"The Patronus class was cancelled this year. By the Ministry. I told you about that in class- about how the Patronus is very advanced. And how the ministry wants to set up a strong base for defense before jumping to bigger spells."

I nod. He goes on, voice soft,

"I can't give you much. Without a wand you can't do a Patronus. No that you would know how to. I can't give you chocolate. But. Well. Choose some of the happiest thoughts in your life. And then choose some of the saddest and find ways to change them and turn them on themselves. And make them into those happy thoughts."

I nod. Soft. He lets out a breath.

"I can't promise you that it will do much. But it will protect you from feeling horrible. Though. Though it can't protect you from their cold. Maybe think about the Patronus animal. Your Patronus animal. What was it? A wolf I do believe?"

I nod again. He nods with me, voice soft,

"It really just depends on the person. Some things work more than others."

I let out a hot breath. My voice is just a whimper,

"And my wand?"

He doesn't look away from my intense gaze,

"If you are condemned as guilty it will be shredded."

I feel a hole form in my heart. I don't wince. I just stare. Eyes slightly glazing over in horror. V gives my hand a squeeze. I nod. We are all silent for a moment. Eventually I speak. Voice soft.

"How do they have no record of me?"

He glances up, eyes intense.

"What?"

I blink. V gives me a confused look,

"What do you mean? They don't have any record for you?"

I feel my lips part. And then look down and then back up. Right. There is something very wrong with that. They should have a record of me. I remember Hermione. What Hermione said. She was telling me about how she found out I was an orphan. Right after Dom's funeral. I remember her words. Her words were soft.

I close my eyes. We are back on the balcony looking down at James sitting with the kids wrapped in his arms. Hermione walked up to me and told me she knew I was an orphan. We were talking about how I should tell James.

I can hear my words,

"Did V tell you?"

She shook her head, looking down at her hands,

"No, she would never betray you like that, no, one day, she came home and she began to talk about you Rose, as if you were a goddess, every memory and day from school would have your name at the center, so I wondered who you were,"

She paused and looked up at the stars, her hands were trembling,

"I went to the ministry's records, but your name, was not in it. So I went to school records, and no parents were listed, no relatives. So I searched deeper, until I found a little girl in rags playing with Scorpius Malfoy in a meadow just over the Thames, on a summer day. You were laughing, flowers braided in your hair, you had bruises on your skin, cuts on your arms but there were no tear stains."

I open my eyes. Lips parted. But other orphans have records. Right? I glance at Teddy he is giving me a curious look, hair a sharp, blinding purple. I duck my head. Voice soft.

"Could I talk to V for a sec?"

He doesn't react for a moment. And then he nods. And stands, leaving the room, his footsteps fading. I let out a breath and turn to her,

"How does the ministry record orphans?"

She gives me a long look. And tilts her head to the side,

"I don't know. But. But you not having any record doesn't sound right."

I nod. My voice breaking in,

"To enter Hogwarts, what is the process of choosing students?"

Her eyes light up,

"My mom told me about this. They use ministry records of people or families that have already been in the school. And then they first enroll their children. Next they go through the requests from all around the world. And lastly they will search muggle society. And create new ministry records for the students they choose. That's why the orphans that are enrolled in Hogwarts have foster families."

I close my eyes. Voice breaking,

"Then how was I chosen?"

She narrows her eyes,

"I don't know. It. Rose. It makes no sense. You must have been on the ministry's radar."

I shake my head,

"Then they would have records of me."

She stares at me. Her eyes blink. Her voice shakes,

"What if. What if your actual parents. I mean your real parents put in a request for you? Or. Or your real parents are on the ministry's radar?"

I stare at her. My heart speeds up. Never once. In my entire life have I had any sign or glimpse of who why or how my parents are. They have never existed. They have never been a possibility. I stare at her. My lips parting.

"You mean. My parents- would be- could be, could have magic?"

She shrugs, leaning back in her seat,

"It's a possibility. Isn't it?"

I duck my head. Mind scrambling for something. Anything. I let out a shaky breath.

"But once I was enrolled in Hogwarts the ministry should have created a record for me."

She pauses. Eyes narrowing as she slowly nods,

"Yes. They should have."

I tilt my head to the side,

"But there is none. Why is there none?"

She gives me a blank look. And then slowly she speaks my thoughts, voice shaking,

"What if. Rose. This sounds crazy but what if someone. It would have to be someone pretty high up. Someone."

I continue her sentence,

"What if someone enrolled me in Hogwarts. And that same someone doesn't want the ministry to have my record?"

She stares at me. I can feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Her voice shakes as she slowly speaks,

"What if the person who framed you isn't after the Potters? What if they are after you?"

I stare at her. Her voice goes on, trembling,

"What if you aren't the stepping stone, but you are what they want. You are the target."

I feel a chill of fear trickle down my spine. My back straightens. Her fingers squeeze mine. I can feel the tingle of each nerve. My hands shake. Something. I am missing something. Something incredibly important. I clear my throat, voice soft,

"That's crazy."

She nods her head, eyes relaxing,

"Yeah that is crazy. Too crazy to be true. I mean. What could you possibly have that they would want no one to know who you are? Or your identity?"

I nod. Voice a whisper,

"Nothing. I have nothing. Nothing that important."

She nods. Fingers relaxing as the muscles untense. But I can see it. Thomas' shadow. Thomas' shadow that glows with green eyes. I feel a chill run down my spine.

There is a fifth possibility. The person who framed me wants me to know I didn't do it. They want me to know it makes no sense. They are testing me. Seeing how much I can handle. How much my brain needs. How much my sanity can be stretched. When you use the Obliviator spell. Which is probably the only spell that can manipulate my memory like they did. If they did. You can make the memory however you want. However long you want. However logical or illogical you want.

So why keep the green eyes on the shadow? Why make the whole thing only twenty minutes? Why make it so bloody obvious that it isn't real?

I cock my head to the side. Eyes narrowing to slits.

Whoever I am dealing with is brilliant. Far smarter than I am. They know it all. They wouldn't make stupid mistakes like that in the memory. No. They made those mistakes on purpose. To see what I would do. To test me. But why me? V is right. It's crazy. There is nothing I have that anyone powerful could want. There is nothing that is desirable. Nothing that stands out.

I'm smart. I study. I'm an orphan. But there are tons of orphans in the world. The forgotten didn't kill me. That hits me.

Back in the alleyway they didn't kill me. They sang a song. A lullaby. I close my eyes. What were the words? Why did I never focus on those words? Why did I never look at them? What they said? What did they say? I feel like I've heard it twice. Somewhere recently. Words. Upon words. Sung in a soft tune of wind and bone. The whisper of the rush of blood in veins, coursing through the body.

I open my eyes. I glance at V. She watches me. Eyes attentive. I ask her a different question. Something else. Something that I need an answer to.

"Has James ever killed someone?"

She stares at me. Eyes slightly caught off guard. But she pauses and slowly nods her head, voice soft,

"I don't know anything for sure. But. But that's-that's kind of what aurors do. Rose?"

I stare straight ahead. My voice shakes. I unclench and then clench my fingers voice soft,

"When are visiting hours?"

She nods her head, voice soft,

"2 to 4 in the afternoon."

I nod and let out a breath,

"Can you investigate something for me?"

She nods. Eyes never leaving mine, gesturing for me to go on. I pause for a moment and then let out a breath,

"It might be difficult. Because it involves the ministry. But. But."

She nods again, I continue,

"Chang Beaufort. He had a brother. Who died. Can you find out how he died for me?"

She stares at me. She doesn't ask any questions but nods, voice soft,

"I'll do my best."

I give her hand another squeeze. She returns it. We sit in silence for a moment. Comfortable. Quiet. Eventually I speak, voice a whisper,

"I never told you. I should have. But. But the week before Dom died I had dreams. Well. Not dreams. I had visions? Does that make any sense?"

She watches me. Eyes gentle. Voice soft,

"What were they about?"

I bite my lip,

"They. I had to choose. Choose who to kill. Between Dom and. And."

She gives me a long pained look, voice a murmur,

"Between Dom and me."

I give her a startled look,

"What? How do you know?"

She sighs and leans her head on my shoulder, voice kind,

"Sometimes you talk in your sleep. And. And I didn't want to tell you I knew until you were ready to tell me about it."

I duck my head, eyes guilty,

"I should have told you sooner,"

She shakes her head softly,

"No. I knew you were going to tell me when you were ready to tell me. I didn't want to force you into talking about something you were uncomfortable about."

I let out a choked sob. She leans into me more. We are silent for another moment. Eventually I speak.

"I. I have been having the dream again. But this time. This time it's you. You and James."

She leans off of me and looks up, eyes studying my face, scared, wide. I go on, not looking directly at her,

"And. And I keep choosing you. Over James. And I am. I am terrified that the same thing that happened to Dom will happen to James. And I don't know. Don't know how it works. Or why I think it will happen. But. But I need. We need to find a solution. You know? Because. Because James can't die. Not. I."

She stares into space. Voice soft.

"Dom didn't die because of you. She didn't die because of any of us."

I stare at her, voice breaking,

"How can you be so sure?"

She glances at me, our eyes meeting and shakes her head,

"I'm not sure. But. But James is a fighter. He is not easy to kill. At all. Ever. And. And a choice in your mind can decide if someone dies? Isn't that ridiculous?"

I stare at her. And duck my head.

"I guess. Yeah. Never mind."

She dips her eyes to look at me,

"I am not belittling you, or your fears, I hope you know that. I just. Well I think Dom's death is more complicated than that."

I nod. We saying nothing else. After long minutes of just leaning into each other. I speak up, voice choked,

"I want to see it."

She stares at me.

"See what?"

I feel a single tear run down my cheek,

"I want to see Thomas' grave."

She searches my eyes. Her voice a whisper,

"Are you sure?"

I nod. My shoulders trembling. She wipes away the tear with the back of her thumb, her voice shakes,

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I shake my head.

"No. I need. I need to face this alone. If that's okay?"

She ducks her head.

"Of course it's okay."

I nod again. My voice a murmur,

"Where is he buried?"

She lets out a choked sigh,

"Hogwarts."

I simply nod. I stand and give her hand a final squeeze. We walk out. Out of the shop. Teddy is waiting there. He says nothing as V asks if I can apparate with him to Hogwarts. He just nods and extends his arm to me. I take it. V reaches for my hand. Our fingers brush. She wipes away the tears. We don't have anything left to say. There is a fear that traps and claws at us. But we cannot succumb to it. We are strong.

I let go of her hand and close my eyes. The voice in my head whispers. You will see her again. Don't you worry there is still time.

The world flashes by but I don't open my eyes. I keep them closed. Shut. Shutting the world off. We land. Its raining. The water gushes over me. I let go of his arm. Teddy gives me a long look and then turns away and goes up the stairs and into Hogwarts. I don't look back at him.

The thunder and lightning roar in the sky. The rain drops blur my vision. The ground is muddy. The lightning lights up the dark heavens, flashing the world in bright color, pushing at the darkness that swirls and rumbles.

There are two graves. Side by side. Not many people die at Hogwarts and get the privilege of being buried there. Albus Dumbledore is one. And Thomas is the other.

My footsteps are silent. I come to a stop in front of the grave. I look at the wilted flowers, the fresh petals clinging onto the water droplets. The gold engraved dates. I let out a sob. Soft. And then crushing. And I collapse. Falling to my knees. My voice is a whisper, over and over,

"I'm sorry." "I'm sorry." "I'm sorry."

I wrap my arms around myself and rock back and forth the tears and the rain mix. The sky opens up and sobs with me. The rain is cold. But I embrace it. I let out a scream at the top of my lungs. Hands digging into flesh.

My arms drop to my sides. My body goes limp. I sit, head bowed in the thunder and lightning, long hair becoming wet and tangled. My skin muddy and dark with the soil. I press my hands into that soil as if to reach for his hand. As if to understand his pain. His families pain. I double over. My arms shaking. There is too much going. Too much to handle. I shake my head. Words a blur of syllables jammed together. Pushed into a broken sentence. A broken heartbeat.

I hear soft footsteps. I glance up. Lucy stands next to me. Her eyes trained on the grave. Her voice is a whisper.

"V told me to come check on you."

I say nothing. Slowly. Eventually. I stand on shaking, trembling legs. Hands wiping at my tear stained face. She wraps her arms around me. Saying nothing. She has nothing to say. We stand like that for a while. And when she does finally speak her voice shakes.

"This year sucked."

I let out a watery laugh and nod. She nods with me. Her voice trembles,

"Everyone is making such a big deal of Thomas being dead."

I glance at her, her voice hardens,

"But it's just a body, what would it matter?"

I stare at Lucy, eyes widening. Voice shaking just a little,

"It's a lot scarier than just a body. He's dead Lucy,"

She glances at me, eyes confused,

"But he was a bad person. So he deserved it."

I stare at her, hands shaking,

"Deserved to die?"

Lucy gives me a sad shrug, eyes cold,

"Well maybe not that far, but bad people shouldn't get to live. Should they? I mean he was practically stalking you, your my friend, if you asked me to I would kill him. For you. Because you're my friend. And that's how you protect friends."

I stare at her. I don't blink. She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, voice soft,

"It doesn't matter if you killed him or not to me Rose. I love you either way. I promise."

Her hand doesn't feel very securing. It feels disgusting. Skin hot. I pull away, turning my back to her, eyebrows drawn together, hands shaking,

"You're kidding right?"

She tips her eyebrow up,

"About what?"

Her voice is neutral. I look down at the grave. Eyes shining, voice a whisper,

"If I had told you to kill Thomas because he was annoying me, would you have done it?"

She is quiet for a moment, hands wrapping around herself, she studies the grave and tilts her head back, voice soft,

"Think of Dom. If she could live to see another day, another year, I would kill millions for her. Is that wrong?"

I press my lips together. The answer is simple. My voice is soft,

"Yes."

She shrugs, eyes glazed over,

"Someone has to do the dirty so the rest of us can live golden lives. I don't mind being that person if everything I love stays in place."

I turn to her, eyes not meeting hers. I study her shoes. My voice is soft when I speak again,

"Have you gone temporarily insane?"

She crouches down, and places a hand on his name, Thomas' name, and traces the dates of his death and his birth. She stares at it, voice breaking,

"He should feel blessed. His family should feel blessed. He lived longer than Dom did. He got months more than she did. He is ungrateful for every single one of those minutes he got to live past her."

A tear falls softly down her cheek. I shake my head, voice a whisper,

"Lucy, Dom is gone, Dom can't come back. We can't live in the past."

She stops and looks up at me, our eyes meet. Mine have a sickened horror. She blinks at me, her voice soft,

"Why?"

I stare at her, she goes on,

"Why can't we? What's wrong with missing her?"

I stare at her, her voice shakes,

"Everyone is acting like nothing ever happened. Like Fleur hasn't tried to kill herself. Like Dom isn't dead. But it did happen. And I miss her. And I can't lose you too. No. I can't. I can't. Rose please. I can't bear it."

I let out a shuddering breath. Eyes shutting.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

She shakes her head,

"No. No you are leaving. You are leaving us all alone. Like Dom did."

I step back, the grassy mud squelches under my heel, she goes on,

"If only I had killed him. Thomas. Then I could go. I could go and you could stay. But. But you killed him. I wish I had. Before you did. I hate him. I hate Thomas."

I flinch from her words, voice soft,

"Don't say those horrible things,"

She stares at me,

"What horrible things?"

I look away, letting out a harsh breath,

"Your saying you would kill someone."

She shakes her head, slowly standing voice broken,

"No. I was trying to comfort you. Understand you."

I look up,

"Understand me?"

She steps closer, eyes reflecting a slight fear,

"Understanding why you would kill him."

I shake my head, my voice choked,

"Do you, do you, god, do you believe the stupid newspapers? The headlines? That I would, that I could do something like that to someone?"

She doesn't move any closer, her voice is soft, her eyes rest on mine, they have a sorrow, a guilt,

"And so what if you did? You don't deserve all their judgement. You don't."

I let out a choked sob, teeth grinding into my bottom lip, my voice is just a murmur,

"You know me Luc. Merlin. How could you possibly, possibly think I would even hurt a hair on his head when you say you know me?"

She shakes her head, voice just a murmur,

"I don't know. I. I feel confused. They say you wanted to kill yourself. But how could you do that to me? To us? It would kill us, it would destroy us. Did you? Did you kill him? Did you Rose?"

I stare at her. I can't remember. I can't. I can see my wand in my hand. The green light flashes. The train tracks. Dom asking me to come with her. A tear falls. I shake my head. Hands going to cover my ears. My eyes squeeze shut, I wanted to die. I can feel myself giving up. I can feel my back hit the ground. I can feel train tracks. Staying. Not moving. Giving in. Why? I wouldn't do something like that. Her voice is soft,

"Your wand has evidence of both the cruciatus curse and Avada kedavra. Both of those spells were used on him just before he died. So tell me you didn't kill him. Tell me I know you. Or tell me you did. And I will try my hardest to understand that. And support that. Because you are my friend. And you come first. And I never judge you Rose. Never ever."

I can see everything swirling by me. Her voice cuts through me,

"Did you kill him Rose?"

I look up at her, my face wet with tears, my breath shakes, my hands are slack, my eyes are wide, my lips tremble, my teeth chatter. I let out a soft murmur,

"I don't know…"

She nods her head. And looks back at his grave. Her voice is distant,

"It's okay Rose. You didn't do anything wrong."

I stare at her,

"Is this some sort of reverse psychology?"

She shakes her head, voice echoing through every bone in my body,

"He wasn't a good person. So maybe he deserved it. And maybe he didn't. But he's dead and we can't change that. So why bother trying to care for him, or judge you? It's a waste of time."

I burry my face in my hands, letting out a shaky breath. I can't look at her. My voice is a whisper,

"If I killed him I deserve judgement. And Azkaban."

She stares at me, going to speak, I break in,

"Lucy you are a wonderful person. But every word that has come out of your mouth is insane. I am not going to lie. Because you are better than this. And you should never sacrifice your values or your morals for anyone. Including myself. You are bigger than that."

I raise my chin and drop my hands meeting her gaze,

"I'm going to pretend that this conversation never happened because it scares me. And I am giving you the benefit of the doubt. But- but you have to promise me something. First."

She looks afraid, hurt, broken, a little angry, her voice is barely audible,

"What?"

I step away from her. Not leaving her gaze,

"You will never kill anyone. Ever. Not for me. Or your family. Or your loved ones. Because you are better than that."

I let out a shaky breath, eyes digging into hers,

"Dom once told me that violence is never the answer. If you can bare disappointing me, I wonder if you can bare disappointing her?"

I bite my lip and turn away. My footsteps are heavy. Leaving Lucy behind me. She watches me leave turning to face the grave. She stares at the flowers, wilted in the stormy summer rains. She winces slightly, and looks away. The sky roars to life and thunder and rain pour down hand in hand. Darkness rising in mist. Humidity raising. She wraps her arms around herself. She looks at the puddle that forms at her feet in the muck. Her reflection is blurry. She stares at it. The tears flow hot. She is just a little girl who doesn't know better. Who just wants to support. Just wants to love and be loved and protect the things she loves. There is chaos around her and she is not prepared. Some of us have a strong mentality and some of us have a weak mentality. We see a mistake and we grip it tight and we see it as something right. A possible escape. I am not saying she is a good person. Or that the chill did not run up my spine. But we are all broken things that cannot see through the glass of life. She does not have to be good. She does not know good or bad. Or that there is no good or bad.

Excuses are excuses. And the chill has settled in my bones. When war comes some will change for better and for worse and some will stay the same. When we are all so young and so easily influenced how can we all have the spine to not see the allure of corruption. The soft kiss of sin. And what happens when the mind does not register that it is a sin? If death and murder have become normal how do you possibly not mentally consume that? Our scars are all different shapes, and different sizes. She kept the promise. You should know that. She kept the promise so she lost her life. She couldn't kill. She couldn't hurt. Because she couldn't disappoint. So she hit the floor and she didn't breath again. But that is so very far away. How could I possibly know she would devour my words as the only morals she would hold onto? So is it my fault? When I was just trying to do good? But is my good her bad? Is there a difference? She stood in that rain for hours. Until her teeth chattered and her clothes were heavy.

And me? With only hours left of freedom I walked the grounds. Gazing up at the towering walls. I came to a stop just outside of the Quidditch field. I gazed up at the red players. And then I saw him.

James.

His captain badge shines golden in the storming. His hair is wet, his robes are soaked. But there is a fire in his eyes that never dies. The broom is like a piece of him. He doesn't smile. But he plays. He plays well. He leads them. I shift my gaze. Over each of the players. And then back to him. He is in the air. And he turns. The rain blurs his vision he looks down. At me. His lips part. Golden eyes wide. I don't move to acknowledge his gaze. To acknowledge him.

We watch each other. His lips part. He doesn't move to come to me. I can see Fred stop flying as well. His eyes registering the situation. The team comes to a slow. The laughter fades. The rain falls. The lightning lights up sad, curious, some afraid faces.

I can see Frank say something to James. James responds. His golden eyes never leaving mine. He begins to go into a dive but Frank catches onto his sleeve. He must be saying something about how it will only hurt me. My case has enough of his dirty fingerprints on it. But I don't acknowledge Frank. My eyes stay on James'.

I feel a wonder seep through me.

What were you thinking Rose?

That he would come down here?

That he would whisk you off to some foreign country and show you the world?

That you loved me?

When you know nothing about him.

But what I do know about him I love. And that scares me. Because it is blinding. And desperate. And heart wrenching. And it makes me smile. And my pulse speed up. And my eyes water. And my skin hot. And my cheeks flushed. And I laugh. And I smile.

James won't wait for me. For Azkaban to be done. He will move on. Even if he says he won't. Even he does love me. Its just in his nature. He cannot live for tomorrow. He lives for today. And if I am not in today. Today will still come. Still happen.

He is up there. In the clouds. In Hogwarts. He is above law, and order and reason. He has no laws he needs to follow. No guidelines that weigh him down. He is free. I wonder what its like? To be free. Of it all.

Or. Or perhaps even he is not free. Even he has his own demons. His own fears. His own world that crumbles.

You must ready your heart Rose. For the next one. The next girlfriend. I wonder if I know who she is? If I've ever met her? If she is kind and good and loves him back.

I feel my eyelids dip shut. I can see blonde hair dancing in sunlight. Her eyes are brown, she wraps her hands around him, she pulls him close. I am there. I am there sitting on a blanket. I am older. By a few years. His arms are wrapped around her. She has a high, cascading, grand laugh.

I have someone next to me. Someone that is not James. He sits with me. Closer than friends. I can feel a bit of my heart crash. Break.

I blink my eyes open. The water seeps over skin. I suck in a breath. A decision. A decision made.

You love him Rose. So when he does move on, and finds someone new. Someone different you will be happy for him. Because you have no right to burden him. To hold him accountable for something that never even got a chance to begin.

We are young. We love someone different every day.

I can see his eyes search mine. Frank is still saying something. I feel my lips tip up.

I smile.

It shines in my eyes. The tears stop coming.

There is a peace in the moment that seems to descend. The calm before a storm. And I don't blame him. I realize it. I don't blame him for not waking me up. I don't blame him for not coming down. I don't blame him for loving me. I don't blame him for his mistakes. I understand that his job requires violence. But.

But I cannot not hold him accountable for killing him. If he did. If.

Because hurting someone is very different from killing them.

And Beaufort is right. Murdering someone is not a mistake. It is a choice. A decision. People do not loose control. People have brains. Hearts. I turn away and walk back from where I came from. The golden eyes follow me but do not go to stop me.

I wonder if James was hoping I did kill him. Thomas. So I would understand him. Understand how he thinks. That sends a shudder of horror down my spine.

I sit on the front of the Hogwarts steps. My hands wrapped around my waist. And as I thought. They come. They are gentler this time. And I do not resist. The chains clamp on. They apparate me back.

I visit the doctor. I am handed a meal. I am put back into the same cell.

Chang Beaufort glances up at me. He has the same dinner that I have. The girl next to me also has the same meal. Mashed potatoes. A tuft of bread. One sausage. I sit down in the seat and poor myself a glass of water. I stare at the glass. Head tilted to the side.

The girl with the stunning blue eyes speaks. Her voice is deep. It rumbles.

"Why did you come back?"

I send her a surprised glance. And clear my throat,

"I wasn't let out. I just went on patrol while they sorted some stuff out."

She laughs, voice cold,

"Do you believe that?"

I glance at her,

"What?"

She shrugs, eyebrows rising,

"If they don't know your identity they put you in a more secure vault. Not let you go."

I feel a shudder run down my spine, voice a whisper,

"How did you know?"

She glances at Chang Beaufort, voice a grumble,

"You told him. Right before they took you."

I nod slowly. I mull over her words. What she said makes a lot more sense. So why let me go? I go onto the floor and crawl over to Chang's cell with my food. He copies my action after a moment. He looks darker today. He blends into the shadows. His sharp, high face elegant in the creeping darkness. As if he is one with it. He doesn't eat much. Neither do I. The food is pretty disgusting. After around 30 minutes he speaks up. Voice just as cold and detached as before.

"Ace has a point."

I glance at him. I nod softly. Voice a whisper,

"Then why let me out?"

His jaw clenches, voice darkening,

"Why don't you ask your Potter boyfriend?"

I arch a brow, pondering it. No. It wasn't him. He would have been waiting at the café then instead of Teddy and V. He would have come down to see me. He didn't. So it couldn't have been him. I shake my head voice quiet,

"It wasn't him."

He lets out a soft laugh, voice cruel,

"So he is your boyfriend."

I send him a sharp glance, he goes on,

"You didn't deny it."

I swallow and hang my head,

"He's something."

He doesn't pry. We are silent for a moment. Eventually I speak.

"Why let me out?"

He glances at me, eyes sharp,

"It would have to be someone high up. Very high up. I'm guessing it's Arcturus."

I stop. My heart skips a beat. That name. I have heard that name somewhere before. But I brush off the odd feeling and give him a curious look,

"Why would you say that?"

He arches an eyebrow,

"Because he is the only person who has visited you here?"

I swallow. My throat raw.

"No ones visited me."

He gives me a long stare and then laughs. Shaking his head,

"Forget it."

I bite my lip,

"Who is he?"

He gives me another long look,

"You really don't know him? "

I shake my head,

"Why should I?"

He cracks a smile at me, shaking his head,

"He's the judge for your case."

I feel the hair on the back of my neck rise.

"What?"

He nods.

"You didn't know that?"

I shake my head,

"No I didn't."

He laughs again crawling back into the darkness, voice a whisper,

"An interesting man… Arcturus…."

I stare at him. Voice a murmur.

"Do you know him?"

He nods. Eyes gleaming in the cold,

"I would call him my hero. I've never met him though. I don't think anyone has."

I suck in a sharp breath,

"Why do you say he visited me?"

He arches a high brow,

"You ask a lot of questions."

I swallows. Repeating the question,

"Why do you say he visited me?"

He shrugs, eyes dancing in the darkness. Voice a murmur.

"Why do you say he didn't?"

I feel the bile rise but I bite it down.

"Did he visit me? How do you know? Who is he? I. I need to know who he is."

He examines my face. Voice soft.

"I'm tired. I'm going to sleep. If you ask me another question I will reach my hand through the bars and strangle that pretty neck."

I stare at him, eyes wide,

"I'm a stranger."

His eyes narrow,

"I think we are well enough acquainted for me to kill you."

My voice is choked,

"Do you often talk about death this casually in conversation?"

He moves fast. I don't see him. He is just a blur of shadow and blackness. And glinting eyes. A blink. His hand is wrapped around my throat, my face is pressed to the bars. Slim fingers surprisingly strong. Biting. I let out a muffled scream. His fingernails bite into skin. I feel them cut it. I can't breathe. I am desperate. Desperate for air. I pry at his fingers. They don't budge.

I feel bile rising in my throat. I choke on the bitter taste. My lungs beg for oxygen. I can feel my body strain for it. I feel my hands hit at him. Violent. Desperate. Seconds pass. My fingers rip at him. My eyes beg him. I push at him. I feel my teeth sink into my tongue. The iron metallic taste of blood floods my senses. I can feel fingernails scratching for him. Reaching for him.

I am violent. I am dying.

I am desperate.

I can see the wand in my hand. Thomas' fingers clamping down on skin. I was violent. I was desperate.

My vision blurs. Chang leans his face next to mine, his eyes dig into me through the bars. He leans in closer. Voice soft.

"They are watching Rose BlackThorne. So you better shut your mouth. Unless you want to die."

He releases me and I tumble back. Hands going to my throat. I throw up. The bile burns my tender esophagus. My fingers tremble. My eyes water. I clutch at the glass of water. I can't seem to hold onto it. It slips from fingers. It hits the floor. Glass scattering over cement. I let out a shriek. I bring my knees to my chest. My eyes shutting, hands clamping over my ears.

I rock myself back and forth. Back and forth.

Go away. Go away. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

Please.

P-please.

My throat burns hot. I can taste acid mixed with blood. I wish I could taste something else.

The glass is cleaned up. A new glass of ice water is placed. I reach for it. Vision blurred. My hands are shaking. I pour it down my throat. My breaths are short. Stutters. My body shutters. My lungs beg for oxygen. I blink. Hard. I can see the room swim.

I collapse and crawl to the door, the illusion fades. The guard turns to me, expression blank, voice monotone,

"Prisoner 45678 do you need to use the bathroom?"

I let out a scream, my fingers shaking as I point at Chang Beaufort. My breath breaking as I wheeze out,

"He. He tried to kill me. Please. He tried to kill me."

They stare at me. They turn their backs to me. They don't look back. I collapse against the door letting out a guttural scream. His dark eyes watch me. They show no emotion. But he was telling me something. He could have killed me but he didn't. And I don't think it was a threat. I think it was a warning. That someone bigger than us is watching. Is controlling. That if he killed me no one would stop him. That this is a dangerous place and I need to keep my mouth shut. That I need to not talk as much as I do.

I think he may have a point.

After around an hour. I turn to him and nod. It is a nod that says that I understand what he was trying to say. That I did not miss his point. His black eyes open and stare at me. And I see a flicker of appealing emotion. A slight regret. And a small amount of kindness. Just a glimmer.

He could have killed me. But he didn't.

And I felt it. Tumbling into my heart. Sympathy. Interest. Kindness. He is not the enemy. He was warning me about the enemy.

He is a murderer. And he may be. Soon. One day my friend.

And he has killed people. Many people.

I am all alone. It is lonely here. I need company. I need someone. Something to keep me sane.

He is better than being lonely.

He is much better.

The guards lead the way for me. They take me by each arm. Chains locked onto feet and hands.

The room is white walled. It had a metal table. Two chairs. Jemma Carnigey sits in one. Her hands delicately crossed on her lap. Her eyes give nothing away. Her gaze is analyzing. She nods to the guards. I watch them leave.

I am not safe in this room. That is registered pretty quickly. I can feel it. The magic tingles over my nerves. My senses on high alert. Someone must be listening in. Or recording. Something like that. Don't let your guard down Rose. Trust no one Rose. Don't think you are smarter than anyone. Don't act like a fool. Be steady. Be honest. But not too honest that you have no leverage.

Her eyes scan the fingernail marks on my throat and the blooming bruises. She raises an eyebrow, voice soft,

"Who did this to you?"

I glance up at her. She watches me. I can see a pity dwelling in her eyes. It pools there. She sighs, uncrossing her hands and relaxing her posture. Her voice is softer, gentler,

"It's just us. You and me. Who did that to you?"

I almost laugh. Almost. Obviously it isn't just me and her. There are more. There has to be. They would be fools to not have every conversation recorded. They are not fools. They are smarter than you Rose. Be careful. Be strong. Make the right decisions.

I let out a hot breath instead, voice soft,

"It doesn't concern my case."

She sighs and leans her head to the side,

"If someone is miss treating you in the jail cells you need to tell me so I can request a move."

I almost say yes. But I think of the dark eyed man. He knows more than he lets on. And that name. Arcturus. I've heard it before. I just can't remember. It rings in my ears. It murmurs down my spine. It whispers in the dark vast of my memory. Just an echo. I run a hand through my hair. Voice soft,

"Who is the judge?"

She leans back in her seat and starts pulling out papers. Her voice is kind. It gives no specific emotion away.

"Arcturus Lestrange. He won't be biased. He hardly ever does a court case. So. You should either be honored or scared."

I stare at her. Voice even.

"Which one are you?"

She glances at me,

"I'm scared."

I blink at her. Voice curious,

"Why? Why is he so important?"

She shrugs,

"It means this trial is bigger than you. A lot bigger. He wouldn't have taken it if it wasn't big."

I give her a numb look. I clear my throat, looking down at my hands, voice trembling,

"I have never heard of him. I study the law. And important people in it. I have never come across his name."

She nods her head. Voice soft,

"That's because he is higher than the law. His job is higher than the law."

I give her a quizzical look,

"Do you mean D.A?"

She gives me a sharp look. I return it. I clear my throat and lean closer,

"I am going to try to be honest with you. But honesty goes both ways. I need to know the court. I need to know who I am facing. I cannot be honest with you if you cannot be honest with me."

She arches a brow. I can see a glint of respect in her eyes. She nods. And lets out a breath,

"Fine. I don't know what job he has. But I do know that The Prime Minister requested him to take this case. Which looks bad for you."

I tilt my head to the side, eyes widening,

"Hermione did?"

She nods slowly. Her voice going on,

"Not just The Prime Minister though, but the apposing team also requested him. Which means he is being payed a lot of money. A lot."

I feel my lips part and suck in a sharp breath,

"Are you saying that there is bribery?"

She tilts her head and arches a brow. Her facial expression says it all. I duck my head. My heart hammering. Who is this man? Powerful enough for Hermione to respect him? For Death Eaters to respect him? What is his job? Where have I heard his name before? It must be somewhere. Somewhere. Probably in a textbook. Or. Or in History of Magic Class when I was zoning out. Because that only makes sense. It couldn't have been anywhere else. No. It couldn't. Right?

I open my eyes and meet her inquisitive ones. She clears her throat and shuffles her papers. Her voice is professional when she speaks again.

"I'm from the muggle protection law division of the ministry of magic."

She gives me a long look, folding her hands before she goes on,

"Now I'm going to be honest with you throughout this process. And I will expect the same from you."

She takes a deep breath before continuing,

"This trial is no longer about you or if you did or did not do the crime. It is about taking the Potters down. Now Harry asking for Mr. Lestrange is a dangerous game. Saying that you are innocent. Which means if I do not prove you are innocent it is questioning the Potters' credibility."

She shudders a little at the last part, but continues,

"Since James, Mr. Potter made the mistake of protecting you from being directly detained and arrested you are now in the situation of a new weakness to the Potters name and credibility. The ministry has many enemies. I am not here to question your morals for getting mixed up with a powerful political family. But. A rebellion has been forming against the Potters for the past 2 years. You have just given them an opportunity to get under the Potters skin. And an opportunity to question their credibility on a public platform. This trial is not about you. It will never be about you. They could not care less about you. Or if you did it. It is about whether or not the Potters are corrupt. Whether or not they should be above the law."

She sucks in a deep breath of air, eyes never leaving mine as she goes on,

"It is about controlling the public sentiment. Which is presently in favor of the Potters. The election of a Prime Minister of Magic is coming up this fall. This. This has come at the worst time possible for the Potters."

She nods her head. Voice monotone as she continues,

"I am the leader of the defense for your case. Unlike muggle court, there is not one judge or one defendant. There is a supreme judge that makes the final decision. Of which party to agree with. He cannot make up your sentence or your judged crime either. He simply chooses defense or offense. Or makes an alliance of both. Which is rare."

She narrows her eyes slightly as she continues,

"The court has two sides. One, will be of no opinion before entering. In your muggle court you would call them the jury. Here. They are simply 'The public.' Which is ironic because they are picked and chosen carefully by the offense and defense. We each get to choose twenty people. They will make up forty people. They will lie to your right. They are who you and I need to convince. The people directly to the left are the offense. They will argue against you. My job is to never give them the opportunity to object."

She licks her lips and lets out a soft sigh, after a slight pause she goes on,

"Now to your left will be the aurors and investigators who will do the questioning. For big trials like this it is common that one or the other side will buy them out. Buying them out means choosing which questions will get chosen."

She nods her head, voice a little angrier as she goes on,

"Unfortunately the muggle division of the ministry is not given this opportunity. We are a nonprofit organization. Our purpose is to defend your civil rights in a world that does not respect them. Where you are the minority."

She nods her head as she goes on,

"But. Most importantly what you need to understand is that the questions you are asked and the evidence brought up will not be a rebuttal by you but by me. Trials this big are rare. Behind the first five rows of ministry officials will be representatives from different political parties. These representatives are not required to show up. But. Because this trial will be focused on the Potters and their possible interaction with you and the victim you must understand that a wide amount of them will be present."

She lets out a breath. Eyes on mine. Voice steady.

"The groups you need to be concerned with are these."

She passes me a paper with a lay out of the court room, my eyes scan the sheet, picking up on each detail, memorizing. I pass it back. She gives me a quizzical look, voice soft,

"You can look at it longer."

I shake my head, voice soft,

"No. I have it memorized. Don't worry."

She arches a brow but does not argue with me on it. She lets out a long breath and her dark eyes meet mine. Voice business like.

"So. To your far right will be the Public. Convince them of your innocence. Directly to your right will be the investigators and aurors that will be asking me the questions for the first three trials. The last trial is the only important one. And they will ask you all the questions. Then. Directly in front of you will be the supreme judge. He/she does not have to be present for any of the trials. And most of the time won't be. The trials, obviously are filmed and recorded. The supreme judge will watch them at their own comfort."

I nod. She continues,

"Then to your immediate left will be me. And my defense crew. There are ten of us. Two scripters. Two investigators. Two fact checkers. And then my assistances and me. Then. To your far left will be the offense. The victims' family's lawyers, aurors and investigators they hired. They could be anything from ten to thirty people. But remember. Numbers don't matter."

I nod again. My brain soaking in the information like a sponge. She nods with me and goes on, voice harder

"Now I am not an idiot. This you should also know. You lie to me it will be uncovered within the trial and I will not be able to defend you. Now here's how the questioning works. A question will be asked. Before you or I need to answer or rebuttal, the question will be argued among both parties. Defense and offense. A strike means that the question is invalid to the investigation and this trial. An objection means that the question should be not asked presently or slightly altered. Due to offense or suspicion not proven. If a question is both striked and objected by opposing teams it will be negotiated. Once the negotiation is completed, depending on the outcome the question will be asked or refused."

She lets out a breath, watching me with curious eyes as she goes on,

"All of that happens before the question is even answered. That is just the asking. After this stage and the question is repeated to you, modified or not, I will answer first. And. If necessary you will answer second. But again. That won't really be necessary till the fourth trial. Understand?"

I nod. She gives me a little surprised look but just takes a sip of her water and continues,

"Both of our answers either need to be similar or support each other's claims. They must contain facts and use the evidence to our advantage or discredit the evidence. So it can be striked. Our answers will then be questioned by the apposing ministry sector. After this is completed the investigation team will verify what is true and what is false."

She rolls her shoulders back and gives me the first smile. It is reassuring. She nods her head to me. Voice still professional as she goes on.

"Now. At the end of every trial the last hour will be questioning the evidence. And the last thirty minutes will be me presenting other possible suspects."

Her face becomes more serious. Her lips thinning. Voice hardening,

"Now. The Potters."

I give her a quizzical look,

"What about them?"

She raises her chin, eyes watching me intently,

"You have two choices. Stand for them. Or stand against them."

I stare at her. She goes on,

"The easiest way to win this trial is to throw the Potter's under the bus. Link them to the victim, to the crime. But make yourself above them. Untouchable."

I swallow hard, she sighs and tilts her head to the side, voice intense,

"A Revolution is whispering on the wind. It will happen either way. Whether you help them or not. But it is completely your choice. All I am saying is that the easiest and most likely way to win this trial is to have the Potters take the blow. Not you. The offense will go easier on you if you side with them against the Potters."

I don't answer her. I just raise my chin. My gaze doesn't shake. We stare at each other for a couple minutes. Eventually I speak, voice colder than I expected,

"I am not petty. The Potters have nothing to do with this case. I do not put those who don't deserve to be in suspicion in suspicion."

She arches a brow but says nothing to try and convince me, again, somewhere deep in those orbs I see that glint of respect, and it makes me trust her, it makes me want to. She clears her throat and takes more papers out. I take a sip of water. She eventually speaks,

"I am going to start asking questions now. Relax and answer to your best ability."

She pulls out a magic quill. I have never seen one before. What they do is they record what everyone in the room says word to word. So she doesn't have to write. I study it. Her eyes find mine, voice clipped,

"Today we are going to do questions the offense will ask in the first trial. Tomorrow we will go over the evidence they have and compare it to what you know. The day after you are going to tell me everything relevant to this case. You are going to answer all of my questions so our answers can be aligned. Then the day before the trial we will rehearse our answers and go over all of our facts. And of course, we will choose how we want the first trial to go. But I am getting ahead of myself."

I nod and give her a small smile, her eyes return it, she clears her throat and pulls out more papers, stacking them, and organizing them before the looks at me,

"Ready? Today I will go easy on you, so don't stress too much, just relax and answer to your best ability."

I nod. She pulls out the quill, it takes a flick, posed above paper, ready to write whatever I say. She gives me a long look. Her voice professional as she asks the first question,

"Did James Sirius Potter give you a choice when he detained you in the hospital wing, at Hogwarts?"

I stare at her. I can hear what Teddy said. I shake my head, voice steady,

"I was unconscious."

She nods and goes on,

"Is James Sirius Potter your legal guardian?"

I shake my head,

"No."

She nods and continues,

"Then why did he have any legal right to keep you unconscious?"

I shake my head, voice soft,

"He didn't have any legal right."

She doesn't look away from me. But I can see respect glitter in her eyes. She just nods. The quill scribbles. She takes a breath looking back at me, voice still hard,

"What is your relationship with Thomas Macmillan?"

I feel myself shudder but don't look away, voice steady,

"We were classmates in the same year at Hogwarts."

She nods. The quill scribbles. She goes on.

"Where were you on June 6th, 2018?"

I swallow and let out a breath,

"I don't understand the question."

She looks up at me, and rephrases, voice harder, a little more curious,

"Okay. Why were you on a train to muggle London from Hogwarts on June 6th 2018?"

I stare at her. I feel my breath shake. I went on the train to see the police man. My fingers shake. I clamp them together. My eyes not drifting from hers,

"I got a letter requesting me to meet in muggle London."

She nods going on,

"Meet who?"

I feel my lips part,

"I don't understand the question."

Her eyes narrow. She leans back and then forward. Glancing at her notes and then back at me, she clears her throat and goes on,

"Were you abused as a child?"

I give her a surprised look, but answer the question,

"Do you mean verbally, mentally, emotionally, sexually or physically?"

She gives me a slight tilt up of her lips but fixes them back in a straight line, and shrugs eyes meeting mine,

"Answer the question."

I bite my lip,

"Yes."

She doesn't press me. She ruffles through her papers. Going on,

"Is it true that Thomas harassed you?"

I nod my head.

"Yes. It is true."

She nods her head. Asking the next question,

"Did he try to rape you?"

I freeze. My hands tremble and I feel a tear slip down my cheek and I wipe it away. Voice shaking,

"I don't know."

She leans over and takes my hand in hers, eyes searching mine. Kind. Gentle. Soft. She asks the next question softer,

"Did he try to touch you when you didn't want him to?"

I nod my head. Voice a whisper,

"Yes."

She lets out a shaky breath. She gives me a minute. I sip the glass of water. After a pause she continues the questioning.

Clearing her throat, eyes on mine,

"Where did you learn to do the cruciatus curse and Avada kedavra?"

I shake my head, voice soft.

"I never learned either."

She arches a brow, question going on,

"But you performed both."

I let out a breath. It is a statement. Not a question. Her eyes search mine, she goes on,

"Rose. What is your relationship with James Potter?"

I bite my lip,

"He is my friends' cousin. And he is. He is someone important to me."

She watches me closely, eyes searching mine, her next question chills me to the bone,

"Do you know that James Potter was caught in a bar with a girl that looked very much like you that same night? June 6th?"

I stare at her. I feel something crack. I shake my head. My eyes wide.

"What?"

She lets out a breath and leans closer,

"No one but me and the offense knows this information. The paparazzi sent me the photos before releasing them. They won't be released till after all of the trials. Do you think you can identify this girl for me? As you?"

I lean my head to the side. She hands me pictures. I can see James' finger under her chin, his head tilted to the side. She does look like me. Her eyes match my green. Her hair is my length. It has a tint of bronze in it like mine. I let out a choked shutter, voice trembling,

"That isn't me. Its. It's not me."

I can see her pity for me. It oozes out of her eyes. I don't need her pity. I don't need it. I don't need it. I am not pitiful. She hands me another picture. James lips are close to hers, head tilted to the side, eyes glazed. Her hands are on his arms. I can feel my breath catch and I look away. She lets out a breath. Eyes scanning mine, voice sharp,

"Did James Potter ever ask for more?"

I glance at her,

"What do you mean?"

She tilts her head to the side,

"Did he ever want to be sexually active with you?"

I blink at her.

"How is that relevant to the case?"

She lets out a breath, eyes finding mine,

"If we plead guilty. It needs to be from the perspective of someone who has been caught in this situation more than once. Who acted drastically because similar things have happened to you before. Do you understand what I am saying?"

I nod. She gives me a look and asks the question again,

"Did James Sirius Potter ever want to be sexually active with you?"

I swallow,

"Not that I am aware of. I mean. In jokes yes. But. Nothing ever serious. Our relationship just began. I'm not. I'm not that type of girl. "

She just nods. Eyes flickering over mine. She ducks her head.

"Was it one person or more than one person?"

I stare at her, she rephrases,

"On June 6th was it one person or more?"

I stare at her. I tilt my head to the side,

"I remember only Thomas. But. But I felt more than one pair of hands."

She nods. She gives me a long look. the next question is harsh,

"Who told you to get on the train?"

I stare at her.

"No one."

She sighs,

"You said you got a letter. Who gave you that letter?"

I feel a ripple of fear. Of hatred. Of anger. My voice is cold,

"V. V gave me the letter. But that's not the point."

She simply arches a brow, voice cold,

"You are speaking of Veronica Weasley correct?"

I nod. Voice choking, going to speak but she cuts me off with another question,

"Have you hinted to Thomas in the past? That you would like to have sexual intercourse with him?"

I shake my head, voice angry,

"Of course not. I would not-"

She cuts me off, going to the next question,

"Why is there no record of you in the system?"

I stare at her. They don't know I am an orphan yet. I shake my head. Voice soft.

"I have no idea."

She leans closer,

"Who are your parents?"

I lean back,

"I don't know."

She arches a brow, going on to the next question,

"Who do you live with when you are not at Hogwarts?"

I bite my lip, eyes ducking,

"Friends."

She leans closer, voice digging into me,

"Why is there no record of you?"

I shake my head,

"I don't know."

She narrows her eyes and changes the question voice hitting me hard,

"Did you kill Thomas Macmillan?"

I stare at her. Gaze shaking,

"I don't know."

She tilts her head to the side,

"Do you remember killing him?"

I nod, voice trembling,

"Yes."

She cuts me off and goes on,

"Then why did you say you don't know?"

I stare at her, eyes wide,

"The memory is weird."

She narrows her eyes,

"But you remember it?"

I nod. She gives me a sharp look,

"You have to verbally respond,"

I swallow hard, eyes hardening,

"Yes."

She nods, shuffling the papers, and then looks back at me,

"How long have you known Thomas?"

I lean back, eyes watering,

"I don't know him. I never did. We talked. A few times."

She shakes her head,

"No. You reprimanded him in the hospital wing after he had a fight with James Potter right?"

I let out a shaky breath,

"Yes. That is true."

She goes on,

"You were the one to stop that fight, correct?"

I nod. Voice trembling,

"That is correct."

She leans closer,

"You went to Thomas after the fight. Correct?"

I nod. She gives me a sharp look,

"Please answer verbally."

I let out a shaky breath, fingers knotted in my lap,

"Yes. I did."

She leans closer,

"Is it possible that you and Thomas were in a relationship and you had consented but you freaked out and killed him?"

I stare at her.

"No. That's not possible. You have no facts. No evidence."

She gives me a small smile and a nod, going on,

"Who were you visiting in London Rose?"

I shake my head,

"A person. A muggle."

She tilts her head to the side,

"Can you disclose who that person is?"

I shake my head. Eyes on her. Think of a way out Rose. A way out. It comes to me. My lips are moving,

"No. It was a police officer. I cannot give the name because that would break law 413 of clause Muggle Government Protection Rights, which states that muggle police officers or legal officers names cannot be brought up in magical court due to breaches of their personal records."

She gives me a satisfied look and continues,

"You have been meeting James Potter in Hogwarts the past few months secretly, yes?"

I shake my head, voice stronger,

"Not secretly. And yes. He visited me a few times."

She narrows her eyes at me,

"Is it true that he visited you on June 5th and 6th?"

I nod.

"Yes."

She lets out a hot breath.

"You are confirmed to be in class all day of the 4th and 5th correct?"

I nod, and then answer,

"Yes."

She leans closer,

"Did you enlist the help of James Potter to kill Maria and Clark Macmillan?"

I stare at her. She takes out her wand and pauses the quill looking at me before I answer.

I can hear her voice. Three minors. Thomas. One. I close my eyes. I can remember the drawings of Thomas' younger siblings. The Forgotten was me. I was looming over them. About to kill them. I feel bile rise hot. I understand it now.

Her voice is softer,

"You did a good job. Those are the simpler questions they might ask. Your answers for the most part were honest. Saying I don't know leads to suspicion. You did a great job changing your answer for who did you visit in muggle London on June 6th from I don't know to incorporating a law which means they cannot rebuttal it."

She nods. Her small smile falls. And her eyes scan mine.

"The other two minors you are suspected to have killed. They make the case harder to solve. They incorporate James Potter in it."

I stare at her. She takes a breath and then goes on,

"Thomas' little brother and sister went missing on the 5th of June. The day before you killed Thomas."

I blink at her. She gives me a softer look and changes her previous statement,

"The day they believed you killed Thomas."

I nod. She continues.

"Yesterday their bodies were found dead. Killed by the cruciatus curse before Avada kedavra."

She pauses I feel a horror sink into me. This is bad. This is very. Very bad. She goes on,

"The wand that killed them was left beside them. It has your fingerprints on it. There is no other evidence then them. But. What this means. What they are going to make this into. Is that you are a serial killer. And that you have an accomplice."

I stare at her. Mouth gaping a little. She continues,

"What they are going to say is that James Potter was your accomplice. You met on the 5th. You were supposedly together during the time Thomas' two siblings were killed. You cannot apparate in and out of Hogwarts but James Potter can. Then. They are going to say that James Potter gave the paparazzi an anonymous tip to come and take pictures of him and a woman that looks very much like you. To prove that neither of you were involved with the crime. And then they are going to say that you made up Thomas trying to rape you and tore your own clothes. After killing him you couldn't bare the guilt and jumped in front of the moving train. After that they will say that James Potter used his name to protect you and did not let the aurors and investigators take you. But. After they did take you he removed himself entirely from the case because he does not want to go to jail. Not even for you."

I stare at her. I can feel a rush of hot, burning crisp emotion. She lets out a sigh,

"You are probably wondering how I know that you and James were together on the fifth,"

I nod, eyes wide, she continues,

"I got to interview him before the offense did. He confirmed it. And told me you two were together all of that night."

She pauses. Eyes scanning my face. Her voice is kinder when she speaks again.

"I. You should know…"

I look up at her,

"Know what?"

She stares at me. Her eyes don't leave mine. Her eyes are sad. Broken.

"James. Mr. Potter he."

I stare at her,

"He what?"

She doesn't look away from me, voice shaking,

"When he was questioned by the offense. By the offense about if he was with you all of that night. He. He said. Well. He."

I stare at her,

"Yes? What did he say?"

She gives me a pitiful look. Voice steady as she continues,

"He has an alibi."

I stare at her. My hands trembling,

"What is it?"

She studies my reactions carefully, voice continuing,

"It isn't you. He. He said that he did not see you at all on the 5th."

I stare at her. Lips parted. I feel something break. I can hear McGonagall's voice.

"If she isn't innocent? Would you break her out of Azkaban? Would you sacrifice your money, name, fame? All of it?"

I can hear his silence. It is defining. I stare at her. My vision is blurred. I can feel a sickening horror. She goes on.

"I want to be steady with you. Honest with you. James Potter will not involve himself in this case. It is too risky. For his family. Most likely Harry requested him to remove himself from it. James Potter was your only alibi for that night, correct?"

I nod. She goes on,

"His alibi is that he was with Fred Weasley and Albus Potter the whole night. And Fred Weasley along with Albus has confirmed it."

I can feel the hole form. I can feel the pain. Sickening. She stares at me. Voice cold.

"You will get no help from the Potters on this one. You. This case. They are leaving it to you. They will not change their minds. They will not aid you."

I feel the cold wash over me. I feel it sink into my bones. I bow my head. Teeth grinding. I can see James' golden eyes from high above on the Quidditch field. I can see them. He does not come for me. He does not come down. He doesn't move. He doesn't make any move to. I feel the ripples of hatred form. Harden.

I try to think of an excuse. One single excuse I could form for him.

But there is none.

Power. Fame. Money. Status.

He will never let go of them.

He is an addict and he cannot get enough of it.

He doesn't listen to Harry. Harry didn't tell him to do this. He told himself to do this.

And I hope to god that he regrets it for the rest of his life.

I raise my head. I meet her eyes. Her voice is booming,

"So I will ask again."

I don't blink. I feel the tears dry up. I am done. I am done with so much of it. All of it. Her eyes are smart. Intelligent. They blink at me. Voice hard.

"Will we stand for, or against the Potters?"

I am lead back to my cell. I have no regrets. I have no guilt. I am tired. Tired of letting myself be trampled. And run over. My heart is exhausted of loving. Of caring. My answer is locked in a recording that the green eyed monster watches on replay, lips turning up into a sickening smirk.

If only I knew I was playing into his hand.

If only I knew that James is not the worst demon on this earth.

That there are much darker secrets. And much scarier things.

And that blind fits of rage cannot be taken back.

I have five days. Five days till court. Five days till I am called.

Five days till this world turns to chaos.

In the history books I will not be written as James Potter's girlfriend.

I will be written as the person who buried him.

A revolution is coming.

And. Just be accident. Or perhaps coincidence. I am leading it.

I have stepped into the world of politics.

There are so many hands and so many people who want a piece of me. A piece of the possibility of the destruction I could cause.

I am young. I am a fool. But I am tired of being his fool.

I feel used.

I can hear V's words. She knows. She understands.

A tool. A tool to everyone.

For power. For success. For freedom.

But in the maze of insanity and corruption I do know one thing for sure.

I did not kill Thomas Macmillan.

I was framed. Framed for a murder I did not commit.

The facts are there. The train stop was three hours. The memory is twenty minutes. The Forgotten framed me for the murder of my foster family. They must have done the same here. The memory itself has many flaws. The main one being the green eyes shining in the murky shadow.

I have never met Thomas' younger siblings. I did not kill them. I would never kill someone. I wasn't sexually assaulted. None of it is real.

But something else is also now clear to me. Whoever framed me wants me to know I didn't do it. So why manipulate my memory if you want me to know I didn't do it? Why? I feel hopeless, my mind spins, I am missing something important. Something outstandingly important.

I sit down in the simple chair. I grab the quill. The last blank sheet of paper. It is my testimony.

My insanity.

I close my eyes. I begin to draw.

My mind is a maze of horrors of the future. And to unlock it the pain will ripple. And the cold will come.

But I will not go to jail for a crime I did not commit.

I do not hate him. I do not hate James Potter. I understand him. I know him. I know how his mind works. I know that he regrets it all. But that he will grin anyways. I know that the worst thing I could say to him was that I didn't love him.

And maybe I don't. And maybe I do. In dark jail cell walls one does not think of love as often as you would think. Instead I think of V. The cold is more bearable thinking of her. She is my rock. She is all I have ever wanted.

James came into my life like a thunder storm.

He came into my life on his own accord. Because he must have thought I was pretty. Or interesting.

One day. He looked at me on the platform of 9 and ¾ and he thought that I was appealing to his eyes. That he should get to know V's friend.

And then he chased after me. And threw expensive gifts and sent me into a spiral of beauty and ethereal. And maybe, at some point he fooled himself into thinking he loved me.

But James doesn't know what love is. Love is sacrifice. Love is brutal. Love is hard. Love is struggle. Love is not a one sided thing. Love is respect. Love is choice. Love is freedom. Love survives all forms of hardship.

But James' love is stifling, controlling, possessive. James' love is all about him. James' love doesn't involve what I want. Or making me happy. Or understanding me. It involves him. Him. Him. Him.

And when that love begins to be no longer about him. When that love begins to be about me. When I got hurt under the train. He got scared. And he registered it. He registered that he cared about me. And he freaked out. Because it hurt more then he expected.

And then he saw that the law he has been above his whole life was creeping for him. And he made a choice. A decision.

James is selfish. James does everything that benefits him.

I am not selfish. So when she asked me if I would side for or against the Potters. My answer was neither. If James being a possible killer comes up. It comes up. If they ask me a question about James I will be honest. I will not phrase my response for or against him.

I am not selfish.

I am not petty.

But something has snapped.

I do not trust him anymore. No matter how hard I try to convince myself to.

There are too many things. Too many bad thoughts.

James the killer. James the betrayer. James the cheater. James being possessive of me. James the player.

And I can't shake those pictures of James and the green-eyed girl out of my mind.

I can't shake James lying about his alibi with Fred and Albus to protect himself from my mind.

I can't shake James possibly killing Chang's brother from my mind.

I can't get rid of the image of James pummeling Thomas in the hallway, fed by the cheers of delight from the audience around him.

I can't seem to not see the hunger for blood in his eyes. I can't seem to not see his golden eyes lighting a flame as he watched them drag me away.

I can't ignore the magic that exploded from him. The anger in his eyes as they took me, the possessiveness that breeds in those golden orbs.

I can't ignore the pain he has caused these people. The people that sit next to me in prison. These people who James has never met. Who James would judge. Who James considers not important.

I can't ignore the fact that if I wasn't pretty James would have never talked to me.

I can't pretend that if he met me where I was now, in jail, convicted of murdering three minors, that he would judge me. That he would not be interested. That he would belittle me.

Ego is one thing. Greed is another. Addiction is black like ink.

And in the darkness of my cell with so much to think about I know that James is like a drug. That he clouds my vision, my reason, my values.

That he has worked his way into my heart. And I can't remember when was the moment. Or how it happened. Or why.

James Potter is the hero everyone will always write about, sympathize with, forgive. But people like me. People like me are clouded with suspicion, with judgement, with no facts, no evidence people like me are unforgiven.

What is the laws use if some people can stand above it?

Chang Beaufort's voice is soft, a whisper,

"It seems like you also have no visitors."

I look over at him, dark eyes watching me, I blink away, hands trembling,

"I don't think James will come for me,"

He tilts his head to the side, voice conniving,

"Did you just come to this realization?

I scoot against the wall, hands wrapped around myself, eyes tired, voice a murmur,

"I am in love with him."

He arches a brow and lets out a low laugh,

"You and the rest of the nation."

I stare at him, eyes glassy,

"I love him, but I don't like him very much right now,"

His smile falls and he cocks his head, dark eyes watching me with a frightening focus, his voice is a whisper,

"Why?"

I feel a single tear slip down my cheek and I shrug, voice soft,

"I. I think I expected him to be a better person than how he acted."

He blinks lazily at me, arching a brow,

"But?"

I shudder, teeth clanging together, my fingers curling around my waist, head hanging low, voice hollow,

"But I think I expected too much. I think. I think he is more the man he acts than the man I thought he could be. Thought he was."

He runs his tongue over his teeth, eyes sharp, calculating, his voice is monotone,

"Do you always see the good in people?"

I glance at him. Not replying. He pauses for a moment. Eyes dipping shut. His voice is soft when he goes to speak,

"It is dangerous to live like that."

I swallow, eyes round,

"Why?"

He leans his head back against the bars, jaw tightening and relaxing,

"Because you will get easily let down."

He doesn't open his eyes, voice slightly broken as he continues,

"And you will get hurt."

I lean my head back and shut my eyes as well. There is nothing else to say. And slowly. Softly I drift off to sleep.

But just before I fall asleep I hear it. I feel my eyes open. The sound echoes through each cell. Each person sings it, low, a whisper, a murmur. A lullaby of death. The words whisper in my ears. The walls vibrate with the sound. The illusion cracks. I sit up. The guards stand with their backs to the cells. Eyes not blinking. I cock my head to the side. Crawling out of my cot. Going to the door way. The guard doesn't move to ask me what I want. I hear the clank of chains. The tick of fingernails on bars.

I look to my right. Every prisoner sits head bowed. Lips moving. The words are a soft scrape of desperation. Of hatred on closed doors. They do not need to yell. They have no voice. They will never have a voice again. None of us will. We are silenced. We are underfed. We are caught in the darkness, the weaves and strands of coldness choking us to death.

I cannot sympathize. No. I try not to. But the lull of words and teeth chatter. The ring of soft tongue, the manipulation of decent word on biting cheek. The power of it. The way the guards ignore it. The way the world ignores it. Cruelty has many faces. Many identities. But this place. This place is equal in it.

There is more than one form of insanity.

There is the insanity of the world around you that drives you mad.

There is the insanity of losing your mind from the inside.

There is the insanity of torture and pain.

There is the insanity of desperation, crushed hope, burned love.

There is the insanity of it all being a lie.

When nothing is true and no one tells the truth. And you begin to lose and gain trusts in murderers and lovers. What is life? If just a maze of people fighting for their own survival. So where does that put me? When I do not fight for me. But I still fight for the ones I care about. Fight for James. When I know I shouldn't? When I know he is hurting me? But I cannot let go of the idea of him. The idea that he can do better. The idea that this is just part of a bigger plan. His bigger plan.

Fight for V. Who has always been there. Who needs nothing. Nothing at all. Who asks for such little and gives back the world.

Fight for Dom. Already dead but still beating in my blood. In my system. Writhing to a prominent stand point in my mind. I cannot fail her.

In life we make decisions. We decide to protect or hurt. To love or hate. To get angry or be quiet. To speak out or be silent.

Prisoners have no voice in society. History will never write me as anyone. Just another body that filled up a vacant cell in Azkaban. Just another stepping stone in the political world for one party to fall out of favor and another to flourish.

But all empires must fall.

And for once history, the public, the world will be wrong.

The Revolution did not begin up there. In grand halls and tall pillared rooms where political leaders fight teeth and nail. It did not begin in lonely alleyways of whispers.

It began down here. Where the hatred bubbles and rises and turns. Where there is an army of people pushed down, cut down for crimes they have committed. And slowly. Those people go insane. Some cannot bear the cold. Some are confused by the illusion. Some cannot decide what is real and what is fake. Some starve. Some cry. But they do not forget.

The whole world forgets us. Down here. The world will never remember our names or anything we ever did. Our families will shun us. We will have no use. No purpose.

But while nations and governments and great cities erase us from their past. We do not forget.

They do not forget.

And they all have one name on their lips, under their skin, muttering in their brains.

Potter.

The person who put them in this hell. The people who tried to burry them. Tried to forget them.

So they sing their song. And I can feel the tears drip, eyelashes wet. I have heard that song before. I heard it on a lonely alleyway with a monstrous beast rising over me, its tongue swirling red, its skin see through. It is the Forgotten's song. It is the tune of desperation. Of death. Of hopes crushed and buried. Each line has a rhythm. It is a hum for those cast away. It is a beacon of what is to come. It is a riddle that needs to be undone.

They sing it. The entire prison cell. Everyone. Lips barely moving it, eyes closed, heads bowed and eyes crying soft tears of regret, of anger, of too much and too little and all over.

Those tears crest and the words rise and bounce off of walls. They echo in the darkness. They shine in the murky air, they turn and twist and rise like smoke. Like fire. Like ash.

The whispers are soft, the world cannot hear them, the world, the guards ignore them. But I hear it. It echoes in my mind, it buries itself in my cracked heart. It gets under skin and into vein, and it runs in my blood stream like a disease. Like a plague.

The words hold power. Their voices carry them, it echoes in my ears as they chant,

"Through flesh and bone and songs of old,"

"Through ash and fire, haunting you in the cold,"

"Breed on desire and dreams untold,"

"A candle lit, and so hopes slip,"

"Cast by witch and so scars rip,"

"That blood that tastes, the hunger that awakes,"

"A memory for a penny gold,"

"And so your story will never be told,"

"The street is bare and you are alone,"

"And you are lost in night with no home,"

"Bound by blood, bound by heart,"

"Lost in a time that never starts,"

"Forgotten wind, forgotten dream,"

"And so your world will no longer spin,"

"Death is found beneath your bones,"

"So take my hand and drown alone…."

I close my eyes. A soft tear slipping down my cheek. So the girl bends over the paper, her quill begins to write. And she writes their song. Our song. And she memorizes every letter and every word. And she cries big, angry tears. But she does not speak. She does not have anything left to say.

Conclusions. Theories Hypothesis. Hopes. Dreams. They are all figurative. They are all temporary. They are all confusing.

Four more days until I go to court. Four more days till I understand that song. The chant that echoes and vibrates in my bones.

I lie on my cot. Eyes closed. And softly, just before the dark abyss of sleep drags me under, my lips move, voice a murmur of hot air in the icy cage of hell, words slipping over barely moving tongue, voice box humming, quietly, softly I sing,

"Death is found beneath your bones,"

"So take my hand and drown alone…"


End file.
